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v^vb^hsbp 


««««W8i^*^^^ 


OF  THE 


HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE 


Mrs.  H.  G.  ROWE 


'.*'/■*'/**•*. 


Wrnmm0mf^m<^0ifr^m^ 


__    - 


t;It  was  her  fortune  that  gave  grandsire  Burton  his  start 
in  life. 


Rk 


TOLD  ALES 


OF  THE 


JHills  ar\d  SKores  of  Mair\e, 


By  Mrs.  H,  G.  Rowe. 


•'Keep  who  will  the  city's  alleys, 

Take  the  sm  toth-shorn  plain, 
Give  to  us  the  cedar  valleys, 

Rocks  and  hills  of  Maine  ! 
In  our  North-land,  wild  and  woody, 

Let  us  still  have  part  ; 
Hugged  nurse  and  mother  sturdy, 

Hold  us  to  thv  heart !  " 


BANGOR,  ME. 

D.  BUGBEE  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
1892 


Copyright  189%    . 


CONTEXTS. 


Page. 
I.     Pretty  Patty  Parton.  A  Tale  of  the  Revolution .    9 
Chaps.     I.     IT.     III.     IV.     V.     VI. 

II.     A  College  Girl.  81 
Chaps.      I.      II.      III. 

III.     The  Eagle  in  the  Sea-bird's  Nest.  125 

IV.     Church  Mice.  l-'l 
Chaps.     I.     II.     III.     IV. 

V.     Marjorie's  Knight.  197 

VI.     Stuffing  the  Thanksgiving  Turkey.  223 

VII.  Tempest  in  a  Teapot.  241 

VIII.  Betsey.  261 

IX.  Puck  in  the  Pulpit.  ;j-1 
X.     Sugaring  Oef.  341 


M12034 


TO 

My  Friend, 
Mrs.  Flora  E.  Haines, 

THIS    BOOK 

Is  Gratefully  Dedicated. 
H.  G.  R. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Between  pages 
■•It  was  her  fortune  that  gave    grandsire   Burton 
his  first  start  in  life."       (Frontispiece. ) 

••The  homely,  rough  barked  pines  and  spruces 

were  like  old.  familiar  faces  to  him."         -      154— loo 

••I  have  not  risked  my  life  for  money."  -  -  218—219 
-One  must  keep  mighty  still  in  a  birch,  ma'am."  250-251 
•  -A  long  walk  f 'r  Rose,  such  a  cold  day  as  this  is."  324—325 

"Whv  didn't  he  wear  an  old  hat  and  trousers,  as 

,  u»  .  344 — 345 

anybody  else  would. 


PREFACE. 

An  Irish  matron,  one  of  the  honored  foremothers  of  our 
Pine  Tree  State,  when  asked  by  a  passing  traveller  what 
crops  she  expected  to  raise  upon  the  sandy,  boulder  strewn 
soil  of  her  little  sea  bordered  farm,  replied  with  a  good  na- 
tured  bravado,  that  in  our  own  day  has  attained  to  the  dig- 
nity of  a  prophecy  : 

t;Craps  is  it?  Faith  !  but  I'll  be  after  raisin  a  Governor  or 
two.  wid  maybe  a  Ginral  or  a  Jedge,  an  a  hanfulo'  brave 
byes  thrown  in  f 'r  ballast,  that'll  make  these  woods  an' 
swamps  laugh  wid  a  harvest  sich  as  the  ould  worrld  niver 
dramed  ov .  Thims  the  craps  that,  wid  God's  blissin,  we'll 
be  afther  sindin  to  the  worrld's  mill  one  o'  these  days 

Nearly  two  centuries  have  slipped  away  since  those  words 
were  spokeu,  and  honest  Bridget  Sullivan  and  her  six  brave 
boys  (who  strangely  enough  fulfilled  their  mother's  prophecy 
to  the  letter)  have  long  since  returned  to  their  parent  dust. 
But  the  spirit  of  that  prophecy  still  lives,  and  the  grand  old 
state,  to-day,  proudly  points  to  her  sons  as  the  noblest  prod- 
uct of  her  now  fertile  soil.  Unlike  many  of  her  later  born 
sisters,  the  growth  of  Maine  has  been  like  that  of  her  own 
statelv  pines,  comparatively  slow.  Little  by  little  she  has 
enlarged  and  beautified  her  borders,  step  by  step  she  has 
climbed  to  wealth,  and  station,  and  political  importance, 
until  the  familiar  saying, 

"As  goes  Maine,  so  goes  the  Union," 

has  come  to  be  accepted  as  a  veritable   truth    in  all   political 
contests. 


8 

With  her  feet  upon  the  everlasting  rock,  and  her  pine 
crowned  hills  lifting  their  unprofaned  heads  heavenward, 
she  looks,  in  the  pride  of  a  lusty  matronhood,  upon  the  mul- 
titude of  noble  sons  that  she  has  sent  forth  to  fill  the  high 
and  honored  places  of  the  earth. 

In  the  Gubnatorial  chair,  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  at  the 
head  of  a  nation's  armies,  and  as  honored  guests  in  the 
palaces  of  foreign  kiDgs, — wherever  clear  brains  and  manly 
hearts  are  needed,  there  the  sons  of  Maine  do  honor  to  the 
sturdy  old  mother,  whose  stern  discipline  nourished  their 
childhood  and  made  them  strong  to  withstand  whatever  of 
storm  or  strain  their  manhood  might  be  fated  to  meet. 

Nor  are  the  clear  intellect,  the  undaunted  heart,  and  the 
strong  right  arm  of  the  son  of  Maine  his  only  heritage. 

Even  as  the  saxifrage  clothes  with  its  delicate  beauty  the 
rocky  ledges,  with  scarce  a  film  of  earth  between  its  tender 
rootlets  and  the  stern  granite,  so  in  thousands  of  humble 
homes,  all  over  our  state,  bloom  the  sweet,  God  beloved 
virtues  of  unselfish  affection  and  patient  self  sacrifice,  with 
oftentimes  a  poetic  strain  that  seems  indigenous  to  the  soil. 
For,  let  the  Maine  man  go  where  he  will,  be  what  he  may, 
certain  characteristics  still  cling  to  him,  and  rude  and  rough 
tho'  he  may  be,  a  familiar  song  of  one  of  his  own  home 
bards,  a  tale  of  the  rocks  and  hills  dear  to  his  childhood, 
even  the  sight  of  an  autumn-reddened  leaf  has  power  to 
touch  a  tender  spot  in  his  world  hardened  heart  and  draw 
from  his  lips  the  oft  heard  blessing : 

"God  bless  the  dear  old  State  of  Maine  !" 


Prettij  pattq  parton. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  sojourn  of  three  possibly  four  months,  in  that  wild,  far 

away  District  of  Maine,  among  the  Indians  and  bears,  and 
wildcats,  and,  what  was  little  better  to  loyal  eyes,  those 
pestilent  rebels  that  General  Wadsworth  had  been  ordered 
to  take  command  of!  It  was  the  maddest  project  that  was 
ever  heard  of.  but  just  what  might  have  beeu  expected  from 
that  flighty  Dolly  Wadsworth,  who,  after  her  wilful  disre- 
gard of  all  family  traditions  in  allying  herself  to  an  avowed 
enemy  of  the  royal  cause,  was  capable,  in  her  great  aunt's 
opinion,  of  any  wild,  not  to  say  disgraceful  escapade. 

And  Madam  Courtland  almost  decided  to  put  her  foot — 
that  daintily  satin-slippered  foot,  of  whose  aristocratic 
beauty  she  was  so  proud, — down  at  once,  that  her  ward, 
Patty  Parton,  should  not  accept  the  invitation  of  her  kins- 
woman to  accompany  herself  and  family  to  the  then  half- 
wild  Province  where  her  husband  had  been  assigned  a  tem- 
porary command,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  and  drilling 
certain  companies  of  volunteer  militia,  that  were  greatly 
needed  by  the  government  at  this  time. 

This  was  in  the  spring  of  1779,  and  it  was  well  under- 
stood by  all  classes,  even  in  the  most  remote  districts,  that 
the  four  years'  war  for  independence  had  drawn  terribly 
upon  the  resources  of  the  country,  both  North  and  South, 
and  that  patriots  all  over  the  land  were  straining  every  nerve 
to  help  strike  the  final  and  decisive  blow  to  English  tyranny 
and  usurpation  in  their  beloved  land. 

The  year  before  an  English  fleet  under  command  of 
General  MacLean  had  taken  possession  of   the  peninsula  of 


10       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Maja-bagaduce  upon  the  eastern  shore  of  Penobscot  Bay, 
and  built  a  fort  upon  the  high  ground  in  the  center,  thus 
making  a  military  post  of  no  small  importance,  commanding 
as  it  did  the  whole  bay,  and  able  to  bring  its  guns  to  bear 
upon  any  craft,  either  war  ship  or  merchantman,  that  ven- 
tured out  of,  or  into  the  harbor.  It  was  to  raise  troops  for 
the  destruction  of  this  fortress  that  General  Wads  worth  had 
been  detailed  by  the  General  Court  of  Massachusetts,  and, 
tempted  no  less  by  the  novelty  of  the  excursion  than  by  her 
desire  for  her  husband's  companionship,  his  young  wife 
with  her  two  little  children  decided  to  accompany  him. 

"It  is  but  a  rough  outlook,  Mistress  Dolly,"  declared  the 
General,  who  had  not  the  heart  to  deny  her  request,  even 
though  his  better  judgment  shrank  from  exposing  her  to  the 
inconveniences  and  possible  perils  of  this  expedition  into  a 
rude,  half-civilized  region.  "But  if  you  will  go,  you  were 
wdse  to  ask  your  cousin  Patty  to  keep  you  company." 

Thus  it  was  at  the  General's  suggestion  that  Patty  came 
by  the  invitation  that  had  aroused  such  a  storm  of  opposi- 
tion from  Madam,  who,  as  the  girl's  guardian  and  nearest 
relative,  naturally  felt  responsible  for  her  conduct  and  safety. 

"If  Mistress  Wads  worth  is  mad  enough  to  undertake 
such  an  unheard  of  venture  herself,  she  has  scarcely  the 
right,  forsooth,  to  drag  you  with  her  into  that  howling  wil- 
derness of  redskins  and  rebels." 

And  the  old  lady  fretted,  and  scolded,  and  argued,  even 
condescending  to  tears  and  entreaties,  as  she  found  how 
Patty's  adventurous  heart  was  set  upon  the  expedition  that, 
to  her  girlish  fancy,  seemed  the  most  delightful  that  could 
be  planned. 

"It  is  a  terrible  region,"  moaned  Madam,  shaking  her 
powdered  head  in  solemn  warning.  "The  few  white  people 
live  in  log  huts,  with  only  the  naked  earth  for  floors,  and 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTOX.  11 

the  bears  march  boldly  up  and  peer  into  the  windows  as  im- 
pudent   as  you  please.       The    wolves    too,    howl  the  long 
nights  through,  so  that  a  body  can  scarce  catch  a  wink  of 
sleep  from  sundown  to  sunrise." 
Patty  laughed  lightly. 

"The  bears  and  wolves  will  trouble  ma  little,  aunt  Mar- 
garet, for  I  will  coax  the  General  to  teach  me  to  handle  a 
musket,  as  he  has  taught  Dolly.  Then,  perhaps,  I'll  go 
hunting  in  as  great  state,"  she  added  mischievously,  "as 
did  my  great,  great,  great  grandmother,  who  rode  in  King 
Hal's  train  on  that  wonderful  May  Day  hunt  that  you  have 
told  me  about  so  often." 

"And  wounded  the  stag  with  her  own  fair  hands,"  inter- 
polated the  old  lady,  thrown  off  the  track  for  a  moment  by 
this  shrewd  diversion  of  her  lively  companion.      "The  ant- 
lers of  that  very  stag  were  preserved  in  the  Courtland  family 
for  many  generations,  as  I  have  heard  my  honored  grand- 
mother say,  who  saw  them  with  her  own  eyes,  in  her  child- 
hood when  on  a  visit  to  the  old  Hall  in  the  year    1690. 
But,"  suddenly  recollecting  herself,  "that  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the    matter  now  in  hand.       Pray  tell  me,"  and  she 
straightened  herself  with  the  air  of  one    who  is  prepared 
with  a  last,  unanswerable  argument,  "what  do  you  expect 
to  wear  or  to  eat  in  that  howling  wilderness  ?     You  have 
not  a  gown  in  your  wardrobe  fit  to  wear  in  such  a  place, for 
you  will  be  forced  to  sit  upon  the  bare  earth,  and  live  on 
potatoes  roasted  in  the  ashes.     Moreover,   the  branches  of 
the  trees    will    surely   ruin    ail    your    head-dresses — not    a 
plume,  top  knot,  or  bit  of  gauze  but  will  be  torn  to  tatters 
in    a  week.     Neither  do    I  doubt,"  she  added  scornfully, 
"that  those  pestilent  rebels  will  stand  ready  to   rob  you  of 
your   silver  shoe-buckles  and  gold  necklace  as  soon  as  ever 


12       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

your  foot  touches  land.       The  varlets  are  capable  of  any 
meanness  if  they  think  they  will  escape  punishment." 

A  hot  flush  rose  to  the  girl's  fair  face  and  an  angry  light 
burned  in  her  eyes  as  she  resolutely  bent  them  upon  her  em- 
broidery. It  was  very  evident  that  she  was  far  from 
sharing  the  political  prejudices  of  her  more  aristocratic  aunt, 
and  there  was  an  unmistakable  note  of  defiance  in  her 
fresh  young  voice  as  she  replied,  with  an  effort  to  control 
herself. 

'•The  honest,  hard-working  men  and  women  who  love 
their  country  so  well  that  they  can  brave  poverty,  toil, 
privations,  even  death  itself,  for  her  sake,  can  afford  to  look 
with  indifference  upon  the  gewgaws  that  you  so  unjustly  in- 
timate would  be  a  temptation  to  their  honesty.  They  are 
not  of  the  same  type  as  these  foreign  hirelings  that  King 
George  has  sent  over  here,  to  steal  the  silver  spoons  from 
our  tables,  and  the  buckles  from  our  shoes." 

Madam,  in  spite  of  herself,  looked  rather  disconcerted  at 
this  reference  to  the  depredations  of  the  foreign  soldiery, 
whose  greed  for  plunder  even  she  could  not  deny  or  palliate. 
But  she  contented  herself  with  muttering  something  about 
the  • -usages  of  war."  and  prudently  turned  the  conversation 
by  asking,  with  an  air  of  assumed  humility:  -May  I  ven- 
ture upon  the  liberty  of  enquiring,  Miss  Patty,  when  you 
propose  to  start  upon  your  intended  journev  ?" 

The  girl  smiled  shrewdly,  for  she  knew  that  she  had 
gained  her  point,  and  hastened  to  reply  with  amiable 
readiness  : 

"In  just  two  weeks  we  are  to  be  ready  to  sail  in  the 
'Molly  Stark.'  Cousin  Dolly  is  having  new  coats  and 
breeches  of  homespun  made  for  the  lads,  and  a  gown  and 
petticoat  of  the  same  for  herself." 

••Humph  !"  grumbled  the  old  lady  disconcertedly.  "Dolly 


FRETTY  PATTY  PABTOH. 


13 


Wadfiworth  may  wear  what  she  pleases,  for  all  that  /care, 
but  that  blue  camlet  cloak  with  the  scarlet  hood,  and  the 
puce  colored  grogram  aud  cloth  petticoat  will  serve  your 
purpose.  I  fancy.  For  my  part,  I  see  no  sense  in  making 
any  extra  preparations  for  such  a  ridiculous  flitting." 

Pattv  nodded  good  naturedly  : 

•  -The  cloak  and  gown  will  serve  me  very  well,"  she  contin- 
ued, with  a  kiss  upon  the  old  lady's  withered  cheek  and  a 
mischievous  laugh  in  her  brown  eyes,  as  she    tripped  out  of 
the  room,  humming  saucily  beneath  her  breath  : 

"First  then,  a  woman  will  or  won't— depend  on't; 
If  she  will  do  it,  she  will,  and  there's  an  end  on't." 

The  old  lady  watched  her  until  the  last  flutter  of  her 
pretty  chintz  ruffles  disappeared  through  the  door,  with  a 
smile  at  once  tender  and  doubtful. 

••If  I  could  but  know.'"  she  muttered  uneasily  to  her  self, 

••if—" 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished,  but  that  evening,  when 
Mistress  Wadsworth  dropped  in  to  talk  over  the  final  ar- 
rangements for  the  proposed  journey,  the  prudent  old  dame 
took  occasion  to  ask.  in  the  most  matber-of-fcct  way  in  the 

world  : 

••Now  that  I  think  of  it.  niece  Dorothy,  let  me  inquire  if 
that  young  man  whom  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  at  your 

house   on   Christmas    Eve.    Major I  fail  to  recall  the 

name  at  this  moment—" 

••Burton?"  queried  the  General's  wife,  innocently  uncon- 
scious of  Patty's  suddenly  crimsoned  cheeks. 

••Yes.  that  was  the  name.  I  was  reminded  of  him 
at  this  time,"— stopping  to  leisurely  disentangle  a  knot  in 
her  knitting  cotton,  "because,  if  I  remember  rightly,  his 
home  was  somewhere  in  these  far  away  parts  where  you 
propose  to  spend  your  summer." 


14       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

The  other  nodded  complacently. 

"The  General's  headquarters  will  be  in  Major  Burton's 
native  town,  and  for  that  reason  his  aid  will  be  invaluable 
in  raising  and  drilling  the  troops.  Besides — "  turning 
with  a  gay  smile  to  Patty, —  "he  is  so  comely  and  gal- 
lant a  young  man,  and  so  brave  a  soldier  withal,  that  I  pre- 
dict he  will  beeome  as  great  a  favorite  with  us  as  he  already 
is  with  the  General." 

The  unsuspicious  little  lady  had  walked  straight  into  the 
trap  that  her  shrewd  kinswoman  had  set  for  her  unwary 
feet,  and  she  never  for  an  instant  guessed  that  Patty's  flushed 
face  and  sudden  pettishness  were  due  in  the  least  to  her  in- 
cautious communication. 

She  only  wondered  good-naturedly  why  the  girl  spoke  so 
sharply  in  reply  to  her  voluble  conjectures  and  suggestions 
in  regard  to  their  anticipated  journey,  or  why  Madam,  after 
having  already  {riven  her  consent,  should  seem  half  inclined 
to  recall  at  this  late  day. 

Neither  did  she  hear  the  hour  long  lecture  at  bedtime, 
to  which  poor  Patty*  was  forced  to  listen  with  closed  lips, 
although  every  drop  of  blood  in  her  small  body  was  ting- 
ling with  indignation  and  shame. 

"And  now  I  hope."  remarked  Madam  in  conclusion, 
"that  I  have  sufficiently  impressed  upon  you  the  necessity 
of  great  circumspection  and  maidenly  reserve,  in  the  case 
of  this  very  presuming  and  forward  young  man,  who  will 
doubtless  take  advantage  of  his  acquaintanceship  with  your 
cousin's  husband  to  force  his  society  upon  you.  He  may 
even."  she  added  with  stinging  significance,  •  'dare  to  repeat 
the  insolent  familiarity  that  I  witnessed  with  my  own  eyes 
on  last  Christmas  Eve." 

Poor  Patty  blushed  to  the  very  tips  of  her  dainty  ears  : 

"There  was  no  harm  or  unseemly  familiarity,"  she  cried 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  15 

angrily,  while  the  hot  tears  of  maidenly  pride  started  to  her 
eyes,  "in  his  claiming  his  right  to  a  kiss  under  the  mistle- 
toe, especially  as  he  only  ventured  to  touch  my  hand  with 
his  lips." 

Slowly  and  majestically  the  old  lady  drew  the  stiff  folds 
of  her  green  damask  bed  gown  more  closely  about  her  as 
she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  looking  down  upon  the  girl's  flushed 
and  tearful  face,  replied  with  stern  dignity: 

••  Remember,  girl,  that  the  touch  of  rebel  lips  upon  the 
hand  even  of  a  daughter  of  the  loyal  house  of  Courtland  is 
contamination." 

To  this  grandiloquent  speech  Patty  ventured  no  retort, 
but  as  the  last  tap  of  her  aunt's  high-heeled  shoes  died 
away  in  the  corridor  outside,  she  shook  her  saucy  head  de- 
fiantly, and  laughed  outright,  in  spite  of  the  angry  tears 
that  yet  stained  her  cheeks. 

It  was  so  ridiculous,  she  reasoned.  All  this  fuss  about 
one  little,  harmless,  foolish  kiss,  claimed  and  bestowed 
openly,  and  with  m?rry  laugh  and  jest,  in  the  full  blaze  of 
'the  wax  lights  in  her  cousin's  crowded  drawing-room.  And 
if,  forsooth,  the  gallant  Major  had  no  grand,  titled  ances- 
tors to  boast  of,  but  was  simply  a  brave,  honest  son  of 
New  England,  it  didn't  make  him  one  whit  less  handsome 
and  interesting,  let  Aunt  Courtland  say  what  she  would. 

•A  man's  man  for  a'  that."  she  hummed  gaily  over  her 
curl  papers  ;  and  as  she  took  a  parting  peep  into  the  glass 
before  retiring,  she  caught  herself  wondering  if  that  old 
puce  colored  grogram  couldn't  be  brightened  up  a  little  with 
knots  of  flame-colored  ribbon  and  one  of  her  white  muslin 
neck  kerchiefs  that  were  so  becoming  to  her  fair  complex- 
ion?— One  wouldn't  want  to  be  quite  a  fright,  even  if  one 
was  only  going  to  be  seen  by  the  bears  and  Indians. 

Perhaps  though,  it  was  some  penitent  remembrance  of  the 


16       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

old  lady's  cautions  that  prompted  the  distant  greeting  which 
Patty  bestowed  upon  the  gallant  young  officer  when,  upon 
their  arrival  at  their  destination,  he  hastened,  as  in  duty 
bound,  to  report  himself  and  proffer  his  services,  not  only 
in  helping  to  raise  the  required  troops,  but  in  making  the 
general  and  his  family  comfortable  in  the  midst  of  their 
new  and  rude  surroundings. 

And  that  these  were  new  and  rude  in  more  ways  than 
one,  even  the  enthusiastic  Mistress  Dolly  could  not  deny. 

The  settlement,  which  is  now  known  as  Thomaston,  was 
at  that  time  composed  of  a  few  straggling  houses,  not  more 
than  twenty,  all  told  ;  while  the  dense  forests  on  either  hand 
towered  dark  and  dense  in  savage  wildness,  as  yet  almost 
untouched  by  the  axe  of  the  pioneer. 

The  streams  that  only  a  few  years  later  were  to  furnish 
the  power  for  many  a  mill,  whose  iron  teeth  made  short 
work  of  converting  these  forest  monarchs  into  lumber  for 
the  pioneer's  use,  and  left  the  land  clear  for  his  grain  fields 
and  orchards,  now  ran,  unvexed  by  anything  less  primitive 
than  the  dam  of  the  beaver  or  the  trap  of  the  Indian  hunter. 

The  farms  were  none  of  them  entirely  cleared,  and  many 
of  them  bore  the  marks  of  the  axe  only  upon  the  two  or 
three  acres  immediately  surrounding  the  house.  The  clear- 
ing in  which  the  house  occupied  by  the  Wadsworths  stood, 
was  largely  a  waste  of  blackened  and  charred  tree  trunks 
and  roots,  waiting  to  be  piled  in  heaps  for  the  final  burning, 
with  nothing  of  beauty  or  promise  about  them  to  the  care- 
less eye,  but  brimming  over  with  fruitful  possibilities  to  one 
who  understood  and  appreciated  the  wonderful  art  by  which 
those  patient  toilers  of  other  days  succeeded  in  wringing 
from  the  untamed  soil,  wealth,  comfort,  and  all  the  beautiful 
and  graceful  adjuncts  attendant  upon  a  true  Christian  civili- 
zation. 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  17 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these  flitted  through  Patty's  brain 
as,  on  the  morning  after  their  arrival,  she  stood  in  the  low 
doorway  and  looked  out  with  thoughtful  eyes  upon  the  un- 
familiar scene  before  her. 

The  trees,  elm,  oak  and  maple,  were  just  bursting  into 
leaf,  hanging  like  a  filmy  veil  of  green  and  crimson  between 
the  clear  blue  of  the  sweet  May  sky  and  her  own  delighted 
vision.  Swallows  darted  in  and  out  of  the  great  roomy 
barn,  sweeping  down  so  close  to  her  lace  that  their  sharp 
wings  almost  brushed  her  cheek — a  pretty  contrast  in  their 
saucy  fearlessness  to  the  modest  brown  partridge  that  peeped 
shyly  out  at  her  from  the  thicket  close  by,  too  intent  upon 
watching  her  motions  to  heed  the  impatient  drumming  of 
its  mate  in  the  forest  beyond. 

The  sweet,  clear  air  was  balmy  with  those  thousand  in- 
describable odors  that  only  a  May  morning  in  our  northern 
New  England  produces — the  incense  that  grateful  Nature, 
just  released  from  her  icy  prison  house,  smiled  up  to  her 
deliverer. 

"Patty?"  called  Mistress  Wadsworth's  cheery  voice  from 
within. 

''Cousin  Patty — you  idle  little  thing!  don't  stand  there 
dreaming  all  day,  but  take  this  canteen  and  run  down  to  the 
spring  beyond  the  clearing,  and  fetch  us  some  fresh  water 
for  breakfast." 

With  a  willing  nod  and  smile  the  girl"  obeyed,  tripping 
half  timidly  down  the  well  trodden  pathway  that  led  to  the 
spring,  whose  whereabouts  she  had  discovered  the  day  be- 
fore, and  whose  clear,  ice  cold  water  was  one  of  the  few- 
luxuries  that  their  new  habitation  could  promise  them. 

The  great  trees  met  over  her  head  in  a  leafy  arch,  through 
which  the  sun  shot  his  gilded  arrows,  that  fell,  splintered 
and  broken. upon  heaps  of  last  year's  leaves,  russet  and  sod- 


18       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

den  with  the  scarce  melted  snow,  or  nestled  in  beds  of  green 
feathery  mosses,  where  the  delicate  blossoms  of  the  ane- 
mone, with  here  and  there  a  tuft  of  rosy  arbutus,  lifted 
their  innocent  heads,  as  if  drinking  in  the  full  beauty  and 
fragrance  of  the  pure  spring  day,  that  seemed  to  enclose 
them  in  a  warm,  tender  embrace.  How  much  prettier  they 
were  than  any  of  the  garden  flowers  that  her  aunt  cherished 
so  tenderly,  just  because  the  seeds  had  been  imported  from 
her  old  English  home,  and  how  much  more  delicate  and 
sweet  breathed  in  their  modest  rusticity. 

She  gathered  them  by  the  handsful.  inhaling  their  dewy 
fragrance  with  a  kind  of  intoxication  that  made  her,  for  the 
time,  forgetful  of  everything  but  the  strange,  sweet  influ- 
ences of  the  place  and  hour  ;  and  she  started,  with  a  half- 
guilty  consciousness  of  her  neglected  task,  at  the  sound  of 
a  footstep  close  behind  her  upon  the  grassy  path. 

A  glance  over  her  shoulder  revealed  the  familiar  figure  of 
a  tall  young  man,  in  homespuu  hunting  suit  and  moccasins, 
who  lifted  his  cap  with  a  courteous  gesture,  as  he  bade  her 
a  pleasant  good  morning. 

••So  you  have  been  pilfering  from  Mother  Bumble-bee's 
garden  !"  he  said,  with  a  gay  nod  at  the  heap  of  blossoms 
and  trailing  evergreen  that  she  had  gathered  in  her  apron. 
"That  is  what  Ma'am  Burchard.  my  old  schoolmistress, 
used  to  call  it.  when  she  saw  us  youngsters  with  our  hands 
full  of  wild  flowers.  If  it  was  a  string  of  trout,  she  would 
scold  us  for  robbing  Daddy  Fishbank's  pork  barrel." 

Patty  laughed  at  the  odd  conceit,  and  the  ice  once  broken 
the  two  were  soon  chatting  away  with  the  freedom  of  old 
friends,  as  they  strolled  slowly  down  to  the  spring,  where, 
having  filled  the  canteen  with  the  cold,  clear  water,  the  gal- 
lant Major  delighted  his  companion  and.  it  is  fair  to  sup- 
pose, himself  as  well,  by  fashioning  a   dwarf  drinking  cup 


PRETTY  PATTY  PABTON.  19 

from  the  delicately  tinted  inner  bark  of  the  white  birch, 
from  which  each  in  turn  gaily  drank  long  life  and  prosperity 
to  the  pretty  woodland  spring,  that  certainly  never  reflected 
in  its  clear  depths  two  brighter  and  happier  faces. 

But.  as  they  turned  their  half  reluctant  steps  homeward, 
and  emerging  from  the  shadow  of  the  wood,  came  once  more 
face  to  face  with  the  unsightly,  half-reclaimed  landscape 
that  stretched  out  before  them  on  either  hand,  a  shade  of 
sadness  crossed  the  young  man's  face,  and  dropping  the  gay 
tone  and  manner  that  he  had  hitherto  assumed,  he  remarked 
with  a   bitterness  that  seemed  foreign  to  his  easy  tempered 

nature  : 

-Look  at  these  half-cleared,  half-tilled  farms,  from  which 
the  old  men  and  boys  can  scarcely  wring  enough  to  keep 
the  helpless  ones  at  home  from  actual  hunger.  No  wonder 
that  the  whole  land  is  sending  up  one  united  cry  to  Heaven 
that  the  end  of  this  dreadful  contest  may  be  near.  And 
yet,"  he  added  proudly,  "not  a  man.  woman  or  child  among 
us  would  purchase  the  peace  that  they  so  long  for  by  a 
cowardly  submission  to  the  oppresses  of  their  country. 
'Liberty  or  death'  was  our  watchword  in  the  beginniDg  and, 
after  all  these  long  years  of  unequal  strife,  not  a  patriot  in 
the  land  to-day  thinks  for  an  instant  of  any  possible  com- 
promise with  tyranny." 

His  handsome  face  glowed  with  patriotic  pride  and  fer- 
vor, and  Patty  noticed  that  he  tightened  his  grasp  of  the 
canteen  as  he  spoke,  as  if  in  imagination  his  hand  was  upon 
the  throat  of  the  foe  that  had  brought  such  poverty  and  de- 
vastation to  his  beloved  country. 

Now,  in  her  heart,  the  girl  fully  sympathized  with  his 
patriotic  sentiments,  nor  was  she  at  all  indifferent  to  his 
manly  eloquence  of  word  and  manner,  but,  woman  like, 
she  found  a   mischievous   pleasure    in  being  on  the  opposite 


20        RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

side.     So  she  only  replied  with  an  affectation  of  cool  indif- 
ference : 

"Ah,  yes — without  doubt  the  war  has  caused  a  great 
deal  of  inconvenience  and  loss  to  the  country.  But  you 
know  there  is  an  old  saying  that  those  who  dance  must  pay 
the  fiddler,  and  if  the  colonies  chose  to  rebel  they  must  ex- 
pect to  take  the  consequences." 

The  young  man  glanced  reproachfully  at  her  studiedly  in- 
different face.  He  was  evidently  both  surprised  and  pained 
at  her  apparent  callousness  to  the  sufferings  and  wrongs  of 
her  fellow  countrymen,  and  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his 
feelings. 

"I  did  not  dream,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "that  so  near 
a  kinswoman  of  our  gallant  General  could  be  other  than  a 
sympathizer  with  the  cause  for  which  he  is  willing  to  ad- 
venture all.  It  is  strange,"  he  added  frankly,  "that,  feeling 
as  you  do,  you  should  have  risked  the  inconveniences  and 
possible  perils  of  a  sojourn  in  this  out-of-the-way  region 
merely  to  keep  your  rebel  friends  company." 

Patty  stole  a  glance  at  his  disturbed  face  from  under  the 
shadow  of  her  calash,  and  the  mischievous  dimples  about 
her  rosy  mouth  would  surely  have  betrayed  her  had  it  not 
been  for  that  convenient  screen,  as  she  said  coolly  : 

"Oh!  as  to  that,  I  am  naturally  adventurous,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  for  myself  what  this  'howling  wilderness'  as 
Aunt  Courtland  calls  it,  was  like." 

"It's  but  a  rough  place  for  fine  ladies  to  prune  their 
plumes  in,"  returned  the  Major  with  a  touch  of  sarcastic 
bitterness.  "And  if  the  British  commander  at  Bagaduce 
should  get  wind  of  the  General's  presence  here,  why  it 
might" — He  checked  himself  suddenly,  vexed  at  his  own 
i  mprudence  in  suggesting  the  possibilities  of  a  danger  that 
was  not  really  to  be  apprehended  in  a  neighborhood  where 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTOX. 


21 


almost  everybody  was  a  friend  to  the  cause  of  freedom  and 
its  champions. 

But  Patty's  mischievous  face  had  grown  suddenly  grave, 
and  she  cast  a  keenly  inquiring  glance  at  her  companion,  as 
she  asked  pointedly  : 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  Is  General  Wadsworth's  posi- 
tion here  a  dangerous  one?" 

4 'By  no  means."  was  the  quick  rejoinder.  "'I  spoke 
heedlessly,  and  of  a  mere  possibility  that  no  brave  man 
would  trouble  himself  about  for  an  instant." 

With  this  assurance  the  girl  was  fain  to  rest  content,  and 
as  the  house  was  never  without  its  guard  of  armed  soldiers, 
while  the  General's  camp  was  soon  filled  with  the  recruits 
that  poured  iu  from  the  surrounding  country,  there  seemed 
little  likelihood  that,  even  if  the  hostile  garrison  at  Baga- 
duce  should  hear  of  their  presence,  they  would  not  venture 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy's  country  to  risk  an  actual 
conflict  with  them. 


22       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


CHAPTER     II. 

And  so  the  long,  bright,  lazy  summer  days  crept  by  in  a 
peaceful  contentment,  such  as  the  town-bred  maiden  had 
never  in  all  her  life  known  before.  The  relief  from  a  hun- 
dred petty,  yet  clinging  cares  and  duties,  more  than 
compensated  the  rude  accommodations,  while  her  natural 
love  for  Nature  could  now  for  the  first  time  find  free  and  un- 
reproved  expression,  and  easy,  unconventional  Mistress 
Dolly,  even  if  she  did  not  share  her  young  kinswoman's  en- 
thusiasm for  the  new  and  beautiful  things  about  them, 
listened  kindly  to  her  raptures,  and  never  made  the  least  ob- 
jection to  her  amusing  herself  in  any  way  that  she  preferred, 
whether  by  long,  solitary  rambles  in  the  woodlands  and 
meadows,  or  by  frequent  raids  upon  the  scattered  farm- 
houses, whose  inmates  she  studied  with  the  same  kindly 
zeal  and  interest  which  she  brought  to  bear  upon  the  wild 
flowers  and  ferns  that  she  searched  out  and  brought  home 
with  her  from  her  long  walks  about  the  country. 

If  Aunt  Courtland  could  only  have  seen  her,  as  with  un- 
gloved hands  and  moccasined  feet,  she  explored  the  wild 
woodland  paths,  guided  only  by  the  k 'blazed"  trees,  fishing 
for  trout  in  the  pretty,  babbling  trout  brooks,  whose  loca- 
tions and  resources  she  soon  came  to  know  as  familiarly  as 
the  streets  of  her  own  native  city  ;  studying  the  habits  of 
the  wild  birds  and  animals,  and  the  scarcely  less  wild  ways 
of  the  unkempt  country  children  who,  their  confidence  once 
secured,  were  always  delighted  to  be  her  companions  and 
guides  upon  any  excursion   that   her  fertile  fancy  prompted 


PRETTY  PATTV  PARTON.  23 

her  to  undertake,  while  in  many  indirect  ways  she  con- 
trived to  instruct  and  harmonize  them  to  a  degree  that  sur- 
prised even   herself. 

It  was  a  work  of  love  and  mercy,  and  never  in  all  her 
easy,  care-free  life  had  the  girl  tasted  such  pure,  unalloyed 
enjoyment  as  she  now  knew  in  her  gentle  ministry  among 
these  neglected  little  people,  whose  loving  devotion  more 
than  repaid  her  for  whatever  was  wearisome  or  distasteful 
in  her  self-elected  position  as  teacher  and  mentor  to  these 
untrained  youngsters  : 

"Stand  up  now,  little  Jeanne,  look  me  straight  in  the  eye, 
and  let  me  see  if  you  have  learned  the  task  I  gave  you." 

Obediently  the  little  maid  stiaightened  her  chubby 
shoulders,  set  her  bare  feet  resolutely  upon  the  roughly 
hewed  timbers  that  formed  the  tloor  of  her  rude  cottage 
home,  and  stared  with  her  fearless,  Scotch  blue  eyes  into 
the  grave  face  of  her  instructress  : 

"Weel,  Miss,  I'm  a'  here  !"  she  answered,  with  the  stolid 
composure  of  her  race. 

Patty  smiled  and  nodded  good  naturedly.  "Let  me  see," 
she  said  slowly,  "there  were  six  words  in  this  lesson,  I  be- 
lieve. The  first  in  the  list  is  'frog,' — spell  'frog,'  Jeanne." 
'  'What  the  auld  grandmither  caa's  the  monsters  that  cry 
boo  !  in  the  meadows,  and  prays  nicht  and  morn  to  be  pro- 
tected— fra  ?" 

"Yes,  the  very  same.     Now,  how  do  you  spell  it?" 
"Frogs  did  ye  ca'  'em?     There's   nye  toads   as  weel  as 
frogs  in  these  pairts." 

"Plenty  of  them,  without  doubt,"  returned  Miss  Patty, 
rather  impatiently,  "But  we've  nothing  to  do  with  the  toads 
now, — spell  'frog,'  that's  a  good  child." 

Jeanne  wriggled  uneasily,  twisting  the  corner  of  her  clean, 
homespun  apron  between  her  plump  fingers  : — 


24       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"I  don't  just  compreheend  the  deeferance  betwixt  the 
twa,"she  said,  demurely,  and  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  the 
lady's  face.  "Will  ye  nae  expleen  aboot  it,  an'  mayhap  by 
that  time  I'll  get  the  leeters  fairly  straightened  oot  inside 
my  bow." 

"You  miserable  little  humbug!"  laughed  Patty,  with  a 
playful  pull  at  the  tangled  red  curls. 

'•You  know  your  lesson  as  well  as  anybody,  but  you  want 
to  worry  me  into  bribing  you  to  say  it.  Very  well,  if  you'll 
spell  all  of  the  six  words  without  a  single  mistake  I'll  give 
you  six  of  those  big  blue  beads  that  you  think  so  pretty." 

Jeanne  brightened  up  instantly. 

"F-r-o-g,"  she  cried,  in  her  shrill,  childish  treble,  then 
shut  her  teeth  together  with  a  sharp  click,  indicating  her 
impatience  for  the  rest. 

Of  course  she  spelled  them  all  correctly,  and  Patty  pre- 
sented the  beads  with  as  much  satisfaction  as  her  pupil  evi- 
dently felt  in  receiving  them. 

The  old  Scotch  "granmither" — as  little  Jeanne  called  her, 
sitting  in  the  chimney  corner,  knitting  in  hand,  had  listened 
attentively,  and  with  a  quiet  smile  of  amusement  upon  her 
wrinkled  face,  although  the  scene  was  by  no  means  a  new 
one  to  her.  In  her  visits  to  different  households,  Patty  had 
learned  something  of  the  needs  of  all,  and  nothing  had 
seemed  sadder  to  her  than  the  fact  that  the  children  were, 
in  many  cases,  growing  up  in  ignorance,  for  lack  of  the 
schools  that  the  town  at  that  time,  was  too  poor  to  provide. 

"With  her  warm,  energetic  nature,  sympathy  and  help 
were  sure  to  go  hand  in  hand,  and  in  spite  of  her  cousin's 
ridicule,  the  girl  took  upon  herself  the  task  of  teaching 
these  little  ones  how  to  read  and  spell,  using  the  Bible 
mostly  for  a  text  book,  as  few  families  had  any  other  book 
in  their  possession. 


PRETTY  PATTY  PAKTON.  25 

It  was  really  wonderful  how  quick  and  eager  they  were 
to  avail  themselves  of  her  kindly  aid,  and  now,  as  the  sum- 
mer was  waning,  there  was  not  <>ne  among  her  pupils,  as 
she  proudly  boasted  to  her  friend.  Major  Burton,  who  could 
not  read  some  of  the  easiest  verses  through  without  stum- 
bling, and  spell  almost  any  word  in  common  use.  of  one  or 
even  two  syllables. 

Little  Jeanne,  the  only  child  of  "Scotch  Dugald,"  as  his 
neighbors  called  him,  was  the  brightest,  must  forward  of 
all,  when  she  chose  to  do  her  best,  but  that  best,  as  her 
teacher  soon  learned,  could  seldom  be  brought  out  without 
a  bribe. 

••Aye.  but  the  lassie's  douce  an'  thrifty. like  a'  her  race  '." 
murmured  the  grandmother  approvingly,  as  the  little  crirl 
betook  herself  to  her  own  private  quarters  in  the  loft  over- 
head, probably  to  find  a  place  of  concealment  for  her  newly 
won  treasure. 

Patty  had  seated  herself  by  the  old  dame's  side,  and  was 
regarding  with  a  look  of  curious  speculation,  the  hard, 
wrinkled  face,  surmounted  by  the  snowy  ••curch" — the 
Scotch  matron's  distinctive  badge,  and  which  in  this  case 
was  scarce  whiter  than  the  smooth  bands  of  hair  that  it 
shaded  :  the  still  erect,  large  boned  figure,  and  the  dull  blue 
eyes,  from  which  the  sight  had  long  since  departed,  leaving 
only  the  blank,   unspeculative  darkness  of  a  starless  night. 

The  towns-people  called  Granny  Dugald  a  ••witch.'*  be- 
cause she  claimed  to  be  possessed  of  the  power  of  second 
sight,  and  Patty,  while  she  laughed  at  the  superstitious 
idea,  could  not  divest  herself  of  a  secret  feeling  of  awe  and 
expectation,  as  she  listened  to  the  often  strange  and  always 
original  and  quaint  expressions  that  fell  from  the  old  wom- 
an's lips  whenever  she  designed  to   make  conversation  with 

any  of  the  few  chance  callers  at  her  son's  cottage. 
3 


26       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

That  both  herself  and  son  sympathized  with  the  royalists 
was  a  well  known  fact  that  neither  pretended  to  deny,  and 
this,  added  to  their  peculiarities  of  speech  and  manner, 
caused  them  to  be,  in  a  great  measure,  outlawed  by  the 
unitedly  patriotic  citizens  of  the  hamlet . 

Several  times  Patty  had  ventured  to  reason  with  the  old 
woman,  in  the  absence  of  her  sullen  browed,  son,  upon  her 
unpopular  political  prejudices,  always  finding  her  respectful 
and  civil,  but  set  as  the  hills  of  her  own  native  land  in  her 
own  opinions  and  sympathies. 

To-day  she  gave  speech  for  the  first  time  to  a  thought 
that  had  often  crossed  her  mind  in  regard  to  the  unswerving 
loyalty  of  this  peculiar  family  : 

"I  always  thought  that  the  Scotch  were  the  greatest 
lovers  of  liberty  of  any  nation  in  the  world ;  and  how 
happens  it  that  you,  a  representative  Scotchwoman,  should 
be  on  the  side  of  tyranny  and  oppression  ?" 

"That  a'  depends  upon  what  you  ca'  leeberty,"  was  the 
sharp  reply.  "I'm  nae  friend  to  sech  leeberty  as  wad  thraw 
aff  a'  allegiance  to  principalities  an'  powers,  baith  aboon  an' 
above.  An'  that,  I  take  it,  is  about  a'  this  hue  and  cry 
hereabouts  will  amount  to,  gin  the  rebel  leaders  win  their 
ain  way." 

Patty,  keenly  resenting  the  dame's  contemptuous  tone  and 
words,  drew  herself  up  proudly  as  she  replied,  with  what 
she  afterward  knew  wTas  imprudent  bravado  : 

"We  will  show  the  oppressors,  before  many  more  months 
have  passed  over  our  heads,  what  the  despised  yeoman  of 
New  England  can  do  towards  dislodging  that  hornet's  nest 
at  Bagaduce  and  ridding  this  fair  province  of  her  foreign 
enemies." 

Grannie  laughed  satirically . 

"He  laughs  best  who  laughs  latest !"  she    muttered,  with 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  27 

a  queer  mixture  of  triumph  and  sadness  in  her  tones.  "It 
may  be,  my  bonnie  leddy,  that  these  same  hornets,  as  ye 
ca'  them,  are  God-sent,  like  them  that  drave  oot  the  armies 
o'  the  alians  abune  the  face  o'  Israel  of  old." 

A  few  days  later  Patty  was  reminded  of  her  indiscreet 
boast  by  overhearing  part  of  a  conversation  between  the 
General  and  Major  Burton,  in  reference  to  Scotch  Dugald, 
and  a  threat  that  he  was  reported  to  have  made,  that  ''The 
English  garrison  at  Bagaduce  had  trusty  eyes  and  ears  in 
every  part  of  the  Province." 

"He  is  a  sulky  clown."  remarked  the  General,  with  care 
less  contempt.      "Too  stupid  to  carry  out  the    mischief  that 
his  malice  prompts  him  to  devise." 

The  other  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "He  is  deeper 
than  you  think,  and  so  avaricious  that  he  would  sell  his 
soul  for  a  five-pound  note.  He  must  be  watched,  and  not 
allowed  to  leave  the  neighborhood  while  the  troops  are  here, 
or  he  might  give  the  enemy  a  hint  that  would  bring  them 
down  upon  us  unawares  at  any  time." 

Although  the  General  politely  assented  to  this  proposition 
of  his  inferior  officer,  Patty  knew  by  the  expression  of  his 
face  that  he  thought  the  danger  a  very  slight  one,  and 
scarcely  worth  the  attention  of  men  absorbed  in  matters  of 
such  great  importance  to  the  country  at  large. 

For  herself,  the  Major's  warning  rang  in  her  ears  for 
days  afterwards,  and  made  her  keenly  apprehensive  of  some 
approaching  calamity  whenever  the  ill-favored  Scotchman 
crossed  her  path. 

Despite  her  fears  Patty  would  not  discontinue  her  lessons 
to  little  Jeanne,  while  in  reply  to  Grannie's  cautiously 
worded  inquiries,  she  took  care  to  give  such  information  as 
would  be  sure  to  mislead  and  mystify  the  crafty   old  dame. 

In  fact    she    knew   little    herself  of  the    General's    plans 


28       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE   HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

beyond  the  present  day.  They  might  return  to  Boston  in  a 
week,  or  it  might  be  months  before  his  work  would  be 
finished  and  the  troops  ready  to  be  despatched  to  their 
destination  in  the  regular  army. 

The  old  woman  smiled  grimly  at  the  girl's  unwonted 
caution,  and  after  a  time  ceased  to  make  any  inquiries 
whatever  upon  the  subject  of  her  friends'  movements  ;  but 
Patty  fancied  that  her  manner  toward  her  had  somehow 
softened,  and  that  she  was  less  intolerant  and  bitter  of 
speech  than  she  had  been  before. 

Once  she  took  upon  herself  to  counsel  her  to  return  to  her 
home  before  the  approaching  winter  should  have  rendered 
the  journey  a  difficult  as  well  as  dangerous  one. 

■•Ye'll  be  safer  an  snugger  in  yer  ain  chimney  neuk,  when 
the  wintry  winds  begin  to  blow,  and  the  snow  drifts  higher 
nor  the  uppermost  panes  in  this  bleak  wild  region." 

But  Patty  only  laughed,  half  indignant  at  the  idea  of  run- 
ning away  and  leaving  her  friends  to  face  the  discomforts  of 
the  season  alone. 

"If  my  kinswoman  and  her  boys  can  bear  the  cold  and  the 
solitude,"  she  said,  "I  think  it  would  ill  become  me  to  com- 
plain." 

And  so  the  summer  faded  into  autumn,  the  days  grew 
shorter,  and  the  evenings  by  the  blazing  fire  in  the  great 
stone  fire-place  of  the  Wadsworth  kitchen  had  come  to  be, 
by  far,  the  brightest,  cheeriest  part  of  the  day.  Then,  his 
military  duties  laid  aside,  the  General  could  indulge  in  a 
romp  with  the  boys,  or  a  social  chat  with  the  ladies  of  his 
family,  who,  with  their  reading  and  sewing,  found  plenty 
to  occupy  and  interest  them  inside  the  rude  walls  of  their 
temporary  home. 

Almost  every  evening,  too,  lame  Jake,  an  old  fiddler  in 
the  neighborhood,  was   summoned  to  furnish  music  for  the 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  29 

impromptu  dances,  gotten  up  by  Mistress  Dolly  and  her  gay 
girl  cousin,  to  which  all  the  young  officers  were,  of  course, 
bidden,  with  the  half  score  or  more  of  buxom  damsels 
living  in  the  vicinity,  who  were  only  too  glad  to  do  their 
part  in  the  entertainment  of  their  country's  gallant  defenders. 

If  Major  Burton  danced  oftener  with  Patty  than  with 
anybody  else,  and  if  that  young  lady,  in  her  comments 
upon  the  different  gallants,  had  a  good  word  for  every  one 
except  liim.  Mistress  Dolly  was  sharp  enough  to  let  the 
fact  pass  unnoticed,  although  she  did  indulge  in  a  little 
private  merriment  at  the  thought  of  Aunt  Courtland's  un- 
availing rage  and  disgust  when  she  should  learn  that  this 
one  ewe  lamb  of  her  flock  of  nieces  had  gone  over  to  the 
rebel  side,  like  all  the  rest.  It  is  possible  that  the  little 
lady  was  a  bit  malicious  in  this  matter,  for  it  was  not  easy 
to  forget  the  elder  matron's  fierce  opposition  to  her  own  mar- 
riage, and  ever  since  that  event  her  contemptuous  neglect 
of  her  gallant  husband — a  slight  that  the  loyal  wife  was 
not  likely  to  overlook  or  forgive. 

If  Patty  should  choose  to  wed  a  rebel  officer,  there  was 
nothing  that  her  aunt  could  do,  let  her  scold  and  fume  as 
she  might. 

The  girl's  own  fortune  was  ample,  and  she  was  of  an  age 
to  have  legal  control  of  it  so  that  she  was  really  as  inde- 
pendent as  a  young  lady  of  her  day  could  or  should  be. 

So  reasoned  Mrs.  Dolly  :  and  if  the  gallant  Major  re- 
ceived a  particularly  cordial  welcome  from  her  whenever  he 
ventured  to  call,  it  was  nobody's  business,  especially  as 
he  was  such  a  favorite  and  friend  of  her  husband,  and  con- 
sidered by  him  one  of  the  bravest  and  most  efficient  officers 
in  that  section, — which  last  fact  she,  as  the  wife  of  his  su- 
perior officer,  was  in  duty  bound  to  give  full  importance  to. 

As    the    winter    approached,    so    General    Wadsworth's 


30      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

labors  also  approached  completion.  The  troops  had  all 
been  ordered  into  winter  quarters,  only  a  small  body  guard 
remaining,  while  he  hastened  his  preparations  to  return  to 
Boston. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  prospect  of  being  so  soon  rid  of  their 
unwelcome  presence  that  made  Scotch  Dugald  show  himself 
so  remarkably  friendly,  as  a  present  of  venison  or  fish 
every  now  and  then  was  evidently  intended  to  prove,  while 
little  Jeanne,  in  her  eagerness  to  continue  her  lessons,  wil- 
lingly braved  the  cold  and  snow  every  other  day  to  repeat 
her  lessons  at  Miss  Patty's  knee,  always  receiving  as  re- 
ward for  a  perfect  lesson,  a  cake  or  some  other  little  delicacy 
that  she  was  not  likely  to  taste  in  her  own  poor  home. 

One  morning  the  little  maid  came  as  usual,  but  her 
usually  bright  face  was  overclouded,  and  the  blue  eyes  were 
downcast  and  swollen  with  weeping. 

Patty,  while  she  gently  united  the  warm  hood  that  her 
own  hands  had  fashioned  for  the  motherless  child,  asked 
tenderly  :  "What  is  the  trouble  with  my  Jeanne  this  morn- 
ing? Are  you  cold,  or  did  Grannie  scold  because  the 
breakfast  parritch  was  not  to  her  taste?" 

Jeanne  smiled  faintly  and  a  blush  overspread  her  small 
face,  but  she  was  a  truthful  little  soul,  and  would  not  have 
told  a  lie  to  save  her  life,  so  she  replied  with  evident  embar- 
rassment : 

"It  was  somethin'  that  Grannie  an'  the  daddy  said,  that 
I  was  no  to  hear,  and  she  flyted  at  me  when  she  kenned  I'd 
listened." 

Patty  tried  hard  to  keep  a  grave  face,  but  the  doleful 
tone  and  air  of  the  detected  eavesdropper  were  too  much 
for  her  gravity,  and  she  laughed  aloud. 

'•No  doubt  you  deserved  the  'fly tin',  as  you  call  it,  and  I 
don't  doubt  that  Grannie  gave  yow  full  measure.     She's  not 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTOX.  31 

one  to  stint  in  the  way  of  admonition,"  she  added,  merrily 
to  herself. 

; -But  come  now,  we'll  see  if  the  lesson  is  well  learned 
this  time  " 

It  was  well  learned,  uncommonly  so,  but  when,  at  the 
close  the  gratified  teacher  presented  her  little  pupil  with  a 
big,  rosy-cheeked  apple,  the  child  refused  to  take  it,  and  res- 
olutely turning  away  her  face,  began  hastily  to  array  her- 
self in  cloak  and  hood,  as  if  anxious  to  escape  farther  im- 
portunity, and  get  away  as  soon  as  possible. 

••Why  Jeanne,"  urged  Patty,  bewildered  and  really  hurt 
by  such  unaccountable  behavior  on  the  part  of  her  favorite. 
"Why  won't  you  take  the  apple?  Are  you  angry  with 
me?" 

Suddenly  the  child  turned  and  flung  herself  sobbing  into 
her  friend's  arms,  where  she  clung,  weeping  as  if  her  heart 
would  break  : 

••It's  no  that  !  it's  no  that  at  all !"  she   cried  between  her 
sobs.      "But.  oh!  Miss  Patty,  I'm  no  to  take  lessons  of  ye 
ony  mair,  and  I'm  no  to  coom  an  see  you  again,  either." 
Patty  was  astonished  and  indignant. 
"Why,  what   can  be  the  reason?"  she  asked. 
"I'm  no  to  tell  that,"  replied  the  child,  sadly.     Then  dis- 
engaging herself  from  her  friend's  clasp  she  drew  a  little 
package  from  her  pocket  which  she  put  into  her  hand  with 
the  mournfully  spoken  words  : 

'•Guide  bye,  an  gude  luck  to  ye,  Miss  Patty!  I'll  pray 
for  ye  ilka  nicht,  on  my  bare  banes,  that  God'll  keep't  ye  in 
safety  an  honor." 

The  next  moment  she  was  gone,  and  Patty  watched 
through  blinding  tears  the  sturdy  little  figure  as  it  toiled  up 
the  ion?,  snow  covered  ascent,  not  once  looking  back,  but 
pausing  now  and  then  to  draw  her  hand  across   her  eyes  as 


32       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS   AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

if  to  clear  them  from  the  tears  that  she  had  not  yet  succeeded 
in  checking. 

With  a  sigh  the  girl  turned  from  the  window,  and  then 
for  the  first  time  remembering  the  package  which  she  still 
held  in  her  hand  she  hastened  to  open  it. 

There  they  were. — all  the  little  hoarded  trinkets  that  she 
had,  from  time  to  time,  bestowed  upon  her  little  friend : 
a  string  of  bright  beads,  small  knots  of  gay  ribbon,  a  little 
embroidered  silk  work  bag.  and  last  of  all,  a  bit  of  soiled 
paper,  tear  blotted  and  stained,  upon  which  the  child  had 
managed  to  print  with  her  unpracticed  hand,  the  farewell 
that  she  could  not  speak  : 

••i  lov  u  but  i  Cant  Kep  the  Things." 
Poor  little  lass  ! 

And  Patty  broke  down  and  cried  like  a  child. 
•'It's  some  of  that  cross  old  grandmother's  work,  I  know. 
She  is  too  proud  to  let  the  child  take  favors  that  she  lias  no 
means  of  repaying." 

Her  cousin  smiled  significantly. 

••It's  more  likely  that  she  has  taken  otfence  at  something 
that  you  have  taught  the  child.      Perhaps  she'd    rather  have 
her  learn  to  sing  'God save  the  King.'  than  'Yankee  Doodle,' 
that  I  heard  you  teaching  her  the  other  day." 
Patty  laughed  through  her  tears. 

•'The  little  midget  sang  it  with  a  relish,  too."  she  said. 
"And  not  long  ago  she  confided  to  me  that  in  her  opinion 
General  Washington  was  'a  gude  man,  for  a'." 

'•Grannie  was  wiser  than  I  thought,"  laughed  Mrs.  Wads- 
worth. 

But  for  many  a  day  Patty  looked  longingly  for  the  little 
red-cloaked  figure,  that  now  never,  by  any  chance,  passed 
by  the  cottage,  or  sent  so  much  as  a  word  of  loving  remem- 
brance to  the  teacher  that  she  had  seemed  to  love  so  well. 


\ 

PRETTY  PATTY   PARTO  N.  33 


CHAPTER     III. 

"Only  three  days  more,  Miss  Patty,  and  we  part— per- 
haps forever." 

They  were  standing  apart — Major  Burton  and  Patty — 
near  one  of  the  low,  uncurtained  windows  of  the  wide, 
roughly  finished  kitchen.  As  he  spoke  the  girl  glanced  un- 
consciously at  the  bare,  unattractive  room,  only  lighted  by 
the  blazing  logs  in  the  great,  rude,  stone  fire-place,  at  one 
corner  of  which  sat  the  General  sleepily  smoking  his  evening 
pipe,  while  from  the  adjoining  room  came  the  faint,  sweet 
echoes  of  his  young  wife's  voice  singing  her  boys  to  sleep  in 
their  low  trundle-bed.  It  was  comfortable,  but  oh,  so  plain 
and  homely  this  scene  of  pioneer  home  life  !  and  Patty 
could  not  help  contrasting  it  with  her  aunt's  stately  drawing- 
room,  with  its  richly  carved  and  upholstered  furniture,  its 
tall  mirrors,  reflecting  back  the  lights  of  the  wax  candles  in 
their  gilded  sconces — the  ease,  the  richness  and  beauty,  so 
different  from  the  rude  bareness  of  this  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness, that,  for  the  first  time,  she  actually  felt  a  sudden  pang 
of  homesickness. 

"Yes,"  she  said  slowly,  and  conveniently  ignoring  the 
last  part  of  his  remark,  "we  shall  start  for  home  in  three 
days,  now,  I  expect.  And  I,  for  one,  shall  be  thankful  to 
o-et  back  to  civilized  life  once  more . " 

"Is  this  plain,  free  country  life  so  very  distasteful  to  you. 
then  ?" 

Patty   felt  the  tone  of  tender    reproach   underlying    the 
words,  but  with  the  waywardness  of  her   sex  and  age,  she 


34        RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

pretended  not  to  notice  it,  and  with  a  careless  toss  of  her 
dainty  head  that  sent  the  firelight  shimmering  brightly 
through  her  curls,  she  returned  indifferently  : 

"Oh,  I  only  came  here  for  a  summer's  outing  ;  and  now, 
that  I  have  had  it,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  be  at  home 
again." 

Perhaps  the  young  man  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his 
own  bright  dreams  of  a  possible  future  to  heed  these  little 
coquetries  of  his  fair  companion,  for  he  went  on,  in  his 
grave,  level  tones,  that  gradually  warmed  into  enthusiasm,  as 
he  looked  thoughtfully  out  on  the  darkening  landscape  that 
lay  stern,  hard,  and  to  the  careless  eye,  unpromising,  amidst 
the  dusky  shadows  : 

"It  is  rough  and  rude  here,  to  be  sure,  but  think  of  the 
plenty,  the  beauty  and  the  wealth  that  are  locked  up  in 
these  uncleared  forests,  these  swiftly  running  streams  with 
their  splendid  mill  power,  and  the  lumber  that  years  of  la- 
bor will  scarcely  exhaust.  Why,  even  the  stone  here  might 
be  turned  into  gold  by  the  man  who  had  the  courage  and 
enterprise  to  undertake  the  work  of  quarrying  it  " 

Patty  smiled  rather  coldly — he  should  not  mistrust  that  she 
shared  in  the  smallest  degree  in  his  enthusiasm. 

••No  doubt  the  place  has  marvelous  capabilities,  if  one 
cares  to  spend  the  best  years  of  his  life  in  toiling  and  plan- 
ning to  develop  them.  For  my  part,"  she  added,  with  a 
little  air  of  contempt  that  she  was  far  from  feeling,  k'I  have 
little  of  the  pioneer  spirit  in  my  make-up.  I  like  my  wheat 
already  made  into  good,  sweet  bread,  and  my  lumber  in 
the  shape  of  comfortable  houses  and  furniture.  Other 
people  may  toil  to  raise  and  grind  the  grain,  and  fell  the 
trees,  or  even  slice  up  the  rock?,  if  they  like,  but  /should 
prefer  to  sit  at  home  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  labors  so 
long  as  I  have  no  special  reasons  for  doing  differently.'''' 


PRETTY    PATCT    PARTON*.  35 

She  stole  a  look  from  under  her  softly  drooping  lids  at  her 
companion,  but  his  eyes  were  downcast,  and  there  was  a 
stern  look  about  those  tell-tale  lips  that  she  was  at  no  loss 
to  guess  the  meaning  of. 

How  stupid  the  man  was  !  Couldn't  he  understand  the 
hint  conveyed  in  that  last  sentence,  instead  of  taking  to 
himself  the  rebuff  that  she  had  by  no  means  intended  in  her 
foolish  talk? 

Oh,  the  great,  dull  fellow  !  Didn't  he  know  that  a  woman's 
words  are  meant,  on  special  occasions,  to  be  read  back- 
wards ?  and  Patty  turned  away  her  face  to  hide  the  vexed 
tears,  as  he  said  sadly  and  with  the  directness  characteristic 
of  the  man  : 

"Then  our  parting  is  indeed  a  final  one,  as  I  had  feared. 
This  is  my  home,  the  spot  where  all  my  ambitions  and 
hopes  are  centered,  and  where,  God  willing — if  I  live  to  see 
Peace  once  more  bless  our  land — I  shall  kindle  my  own 
hearth  fire,  and  devote  my  life  to  the  development  and  im- 
provement of  the  place  that  I  have  fixed  upon  as  the  home 
of  myself  and  my  descendants  for  all  the  years  to  come." 

Patty  was  silent,  and  he  went  on  in  a  lower  and  more 
softened  tone  : 

"I  have  no  right  to  be  disappointed,  and  yet  I  am,  cruelly, 
bitterly  disappointed,  in  the  downfall  of  those  foolish  hopes 
that  your  unsuspecting  friendliness  had  kindled  in  my  heart. 
You  are  right,  tor  to  a  lady  born  and  bred,  as  you  are,  this 
rough  life  would,  no  doubt  be  uner. durable,  and  I  can  only 
plead  my  great  love  for  you  as  an  excuse  for  fancying  such 
a  thing  possible.  Forgive  my  presumption,  and,  as  a  token 
that  we  part  friends,  give  me  as  a  keepsake  something— just 
a  knot  of  ribbon" — and  he  glanced  pleadingly  at  the  rose- 
colored  breast-knot  that  nestled  in  the  folds  of  delicately 
wrought  muslin  that  modestly  veiled  the  snowy  neck  and 
bosom  of  its  wearer. 


36       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND   SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

But  Patty  was  angry  now,  as  well  as  hurt,  and  in  this 
mood  it  was  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise  to  be  able  to  ad- 
minister a  snub  to  the  man  who  seemed  so  stupidly  deter- 
mined to  misjudge  and  underrate  her  : 

"I  crave  your  pardon,  Major  Burton  !"  and  she  drew  her- 
self up  with  an  air  as  unapproachable  and  haughty  as  Aunt 
Courtland's  own. 

"I  only  give  keepsakes  to  very,  very  dear  friends,  and  a 
mere  summer  acquaintance  can  scarcely  claim" — 

She  stopped  in  well  simulated  embarrassment,  which  her 
companion  actually  supposed  to  proceed  from  her  reluctance 
to  pain  him  ;  but  which  wounded  him  to  the  very  quick,  as 
she  had  intended. 

';Forgive  me,"  he  said,  with  a  courtesy  as  cold,  and  a  man- 
ner as  proud  as  her  own,  "for  the  offence — if  offence  you 
choose  to  call  it — the  asking  for  so  simple  a  token  of  kindly 
remembrance  as  a  knot  of  ribbon,  a  paltry  toy,  that  no  lady 
need  feel  that  she  is  compromising  herself  by  bestowing 
upon  an  honest  friend,  however  humble  he  may  be.  But 
such  talk  as  this  is  worse  than  idle,  and  I  will  only  ask  you 
to  do  me  the  favor  to  forget,  as  I  shall  try  to  do,  all  that  has 
ever  passed  between  us,  and  to  say  good  night  kindly  at 
least,  so  long  as  it  is  our  last." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion Patty  laid  hers  within  its  clasp. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  for  the  life  of  her  she  could  not 
find  words  to  express  the  feelings  that  were  struggling  for 
utterance  :  while  her  heart  beat  so  wildly  that  she  fancied 
her  companion  must  hear  its  painful  throbbing. 

Must  they  part  like  this,  after  all  the  pleasant,  congenial 
companionship  that  had  made  their  last  few  months  like  a 
dream  of  heaven  to  the  girl's  secret  soul? 


97 
PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON. 

Ju»t  for  a  few  pettish,  wilful  words,  spoken  in  idle 
bravado,  wonld  this  man-crnel  because  of  the  very  manli- 
ness that  she  so  loved  him  for-turn  away  from  her  forever, 
without  an  effort  to  induce  her  to  retraet  the  words  already 
so  bitterly  repented  of?  Shyly,  half  involuntarily,  her  fin- 
cers  toyed  with  the  coveted  ribbon,  secretly  hoping  that  the 
request  for  it  might  be  repeated,  and  its  bestowal  lead  to  a 
full  and  free  understanding  between  them. 

But  nothing  was  farther  from  the  young  man's  mind  at 
that  moment,  than  to  provoke  another  rebutf,  and  thereby 
add  to  the  pain  that  already  seemed  greater  than  he  could 
bear  with  patience. 

That  Patty's  reply  had  been  prompted  by  a  spirit  o. 
.irlish  pique  and  pettishness,  had  never  once  entered  h.s 
mind.  His  love  for  her  had  been  as  honest  and  outspoken 
as  himself,  and  he  was  far  too  proud  to  press  a  suit  that  had, 
as  he  understood  it.  been  so  harshly  and  haughtily  rejected 
Her  companionship  with  himself  had  been  merely  a  part 
of  the  "outing"  of  which  she  had  distinctly  said  that  she 
was  "-lad  it  was  over"-and  that  was  all.  He  was  no 
whining  sentimentalist,  to  sit  down  in  weak  discouragement 
and  eat5 out  his  own   heart  in  unavailing  regrets    fur   that 

which  might  not  be. 

There  was  good  yeomanly  work  before  him,  duties  to  h.s 
God,  his  countrv,  and  himself,  and  as  he  went  out  from  the 
cottage  that  night,  it  was  with  an  aching,  but  courageous 
heart,  that  even  then,  beat  high  at  the  thought  of  what  the 
future  mi»ht  have  in  store  for  him,  when,  by  the  might  of 
his  own  strong,  right  arm,  he  should  have  carved  out  a 
place  for  himself  among  the  honored  freemen  of  his  own 

native  State. 

When  Mistress  Dolly  came  into  the  kitchen  half  an  hour 
later,  she  glanced  with  some  surprise  at  the  solitary  figure 


38       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

by  the  window,  and  then  at  her  husband  silently  dozing 
over  his  pipe  in  the  warm  chimney  corner.  "Where  is  the 
Major?"  she  asked,  with  a  suddenness  that  made  Patty 
start  and  color  brightly  beneath  the  friendly  shadows. 

The  General  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  yawned 
sleepily : 

"The  Major?  Oh  ! — yes,  he  left  half  an  hour  ago.  He 
wished  me  to  say  good-bye  to  you,  for  him,  as  he  is  to  start 
early  to-morrow  morning  to  join  his  regiment." 

The  little  lady  looked  annoyed  and  rather  mortified. 

"He  might  have  waited,  and  bidden  me  good-bye  in  per- 
son," she  said  shortly.  "After  all  the  kindnesses  that  I 
have  shown  him  I  think  he  might  have  offered  me  that 
courtesy." 

••He  had  so  many  last  things  to  attend  to,"  interrupted 
Patty,  with  an  eagerness  to  exculpate  the  young  man  from 
the  charge  of  discourtesy,  that  made  her  cousin  smile  sig- 
nificantly to  herself. 

"And  his  start  was  rather — unexpected,  too,  I  think." 

"Very  likely  it  was !"  mused  the  puzzled  matron,  half 
amused  and  half  angry  at  her  cousin's  air  of  innocent  un- 
consciousness that  was  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  her 
flushed  face  and  tear-swollen  eyes. 

"Have  you  refused  him?"  she  asked,  that  night,  as  the 
two  sat  together  in  cousinly  conversation  in  Patty's  room. 

Patty  blushed,  and  then  laughed  to  hide  her  embarrass- 
ment : 

"No — he  gave  me  no  chance  to,"  she  returned,    frankly. 

"He  wants  somebody,"  she  added,  with  pretended  hu- 
mility, "who  will  help,  not  hinder  him  in  his  high  aspira- 
tions for  the  future  grandeur  of  himself  and  his  native 
town.  /  am  altogether  too  frivolous  and  fond  of  my  own 
comfort  to  suit  his  tastes." 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  39 

"You're  a  little  fool !"  bluntly  retorted  the  disappointed 
matron. 

And  Patty  responded  with  exasperating  coolaess  : 

"That  is  just  what  he  thinks." 

It  was  a  wild,  fierce  night,  and  as  Patty  lay,  warm  and 
snug,  between  the  soft  homespun  blankets  and  listened  to 
the  strange,  wierd  voice  of  the  wind  as  it  howled,  wailed  or 
sobbed  in  alternate  rage  and  pain,  her  mind  went  back  over 
all  those  long,  bright  summer  and  autumn  days,  now  passed 
away  beyond  recall,  leaving  only  a  hoard  of  bitter-sweet 
memories,  precious,  and  yet — how  her  heart  ached  at  the 
thought  of  their  vanished  joys  and  hopes. 

In  a  week  or  two  she  would  be  at  home  again,  sur- 
rounded by  every  luxury  to  which  she  had  all  her  life  been 
accustomed,  but  to  which  she  now  thought  of  returning 
with  something  so  like  repugnance  that  she  was  surprised 
at  herself.  Was  it  the  free,  bracing  air  of  these  wild 
northern  hills,  where  the  spirit  of  freedom  seemed  native  to 
the  soil,  that  made  the  easy,  pleasure  seeking  life  of  the  city 
seem  tame  and  commonplace  in  comparison  ? 

In  her  heart  she  knew, — let  her  lips  speak  the  weak  plat- 
itudes of  an  ease  loving  woman — that  she  was  capable  of  a 
self  sacrifice  as  great,  a  courage  as  true  as  any  pioneer  wife 
and  mother  of  them  all.  And  her  tears  fell  fast  in  the 
darkness  as  she  recalled  with  bitter  mortification  the  stern, 
scarcely  repressed  scorn  upon  the  face  of  that  brave  man 
whose  approval  would  have  been  far  more  precious  to  her 
than  the  applause  of  the  whole  world  beside. 

Perhaps,  though,  even  now  he  might  think  better  of  it 
and  defer  his  departure  for  a  few  hours,  and  then  they  might, 
probably  -would  meet  again,  and — 

The  wail  of  the  wind  without  grew  fainter  :  the  slow 
footfalls  of  the  guard  on  duty  outside  the  cottage  fell  muf- 


40       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

fled  and  indistinct  upon  her  scarce  listening  ear  ;  even  the 
sleepy  moan  of  little  Jack  in  the  room  adjoining,  and  his 
mother's  soothing  tones  as  she  hushed  him  to  sleep  died 
away  in  a  softly  confused  murmur,  and  Patty  slept, — as 
sweetly  and  unsuspicious  of  approaching  danger  as  in  her 
own  cosy  chamber  at  home. 

Midnight  brooded  silently  over  all  within  and  without  the 
peaceful  cottage,  and  the  sentinel,  glad  to  be  relieved  from 
his  lonesome  watch,  halted  for  an  instant  before  the  kitchen 
door  where,  his  tall  form  relieved  against  the  dimly  glowing 
background,  stood  his  fellow,  who  just  aroused  from  sleep 
had  appeared  in  response  to  his  comrade's  summons,  to  take 
his  turn  in  what  really  seemed,  in  that  lonely,  peaceful  place, 
an  unnecessary  and  uncalled  for  military  ceremony. 

Suddenly,  from  the  impenetrable  darkness  beyond,  rang 
out  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle,  and  the  surprised  sentry, 
with  a  frightened  outcry  sprang  for  the  open  door,  but  not 
in  time  to  close  it  against  the  crowd  of  red  coated  soldiers 
who,  with  loud  cries  of  savage  triumph,  rushed  into  the 
kitchen,  and  finding  the  door  of  the  Geueral's  room  barred, 
began  throwing  themselves  against  it,  with  oaths  and  threats 
in  a  vain  endeavor  to  break  it  down  and  reach  the  helpless 
inmates  they  knew  were  sheltered  behind  it. 

Aroused  by  the  firing  and  the  wild  yells  of  the  soldiery, 
Patty  sprang  up  in  bed,  and  with  clasped  hands  and  eyes 
vainly  trying  to  penetrate  the  fearful  darkness,  listened  in 
silent  terror  to  the  uproar  that  was  every  moment  increas- 
ing— the  firing  of  guns,  the  fierce  shouts  of  the  men  and 
the  ominous  crash  of  broken  glass,  as  the  window  of  the 
General's  room  was  shattered  by  a  volley  from  the  muskets 
of  the  assailants. 

Quickly  she  realized  the  full  meaning  of  it  all,  and  knew 
that,  betrayed  by  some   false   friend   or   secret  enemy,    the 


PKETTY  PATTY  PAKTOK. 


41 


General's  undefended  state  had  been  reported  to  the  British 
Commander  at  Bagaduce  who  had  sent  a  detachment,  that 
under  cover  of  the  darkness  had  managed  to  make  its  way  up 
from  the  shore  undiscovered  and  had  taken  them  by  sur- 
prise with  little  or  no  risk  to  themselves  from  the  small 
handful  of  men  yet  remaining  as  an  honorary  guard  to  their 
commander. 

With  the  remembrance  of  her  friends'  peril,  the  girl  for- 
got for  the  time  her  own  terror,  and  hastily  throwing  on  her 
clothing  she  felt  her  way  to  the  door  separating  the  two 
rooms,  and  with  her  hand  upon  the  lock  called  anxiously  to 
know  if  the  inmates  were  unhurt. 

There  was  no  reply,  but  at  that  instant  the  window  of 
her  own  room  was  •shivered  into  a  thousand  pieces,  a  bullet 
whizzed  above  her  head  and  buried  itself  in  the  opposite 
wall,  while  by  the  blinding  flash  she  saw  the  forms  of  sev- 
eral soldiers  leaping  into  her  room  through  the  broken  win- 
dow. 

Breathless  with  terror,  she  retreated  into  the  farthest  cor- 
ner, still  grasping  in  her  trembling  hand  the  key  that  she 
had  unconsciously  drawn  from  the  lock  at  the  instant  that 
the  window  fell  in,  and  which,  as  it  proved,  had  been  her 
friend's  safeguard,  as  the  intruders  finding  this  door  also 
locked,  quickly  withdrew, — too  intent  upon  securing  their 
desired  prisoner  to  notice  the  frightened  girl  who  again  crept 
to  the  door  and  listened  intently. 

She  knew  by  the  sounds  within,  that  the  General  desper- 
ate as  his  situation  was,  was  bravely  defending  himself  with 
his  pistols,  and  now  and  then  a  low  spoken  word  of  encour- 
agement to  his  frightened  wife,  showed  that  he  was  yet  un- 
harmed in  spite  of  the  murderous  lire  of  the  enemy,  who  in 
the  darkness  were  obliged  to  Are  at  random,  not  being  able 
to  distinguish  him  from  the  shadows  about  him. 


4 


42       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Suddenly  she  heard  him  utter  a  low  cry  of  pain  and  con- 
sternation ; — then,  all  at  once,  the  firing  ceased,  the  kitchen 
door  gave  way  with  a  crash,  and  a  wild  shout  of  triumph 
went  up  from  the  victorious  foe  telling  its  own  story  to  the 
sinking  heart  of  the  listener, — a  story  that  was  the  next  in- 
stant confirmed  by  her  cousin,  who  called  out  hurriedly  : 

"Unlock  the  door,  Patty  !  The  General  is  wounded,  and 
I  want  your  help." 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation  the  girl  obeyed,  but  as 
she  crossed  the  threshold  her  brain  reeled,  and  a  terrible 
faintness  almost  overpowered  her  at  the  frightful  scene 
of  confusion  that  met  her  eyes. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  the  General,  half 
dressed,  pale  as  death,  yet  with  a  look  of  calm  courage  in 
his  eyes  that,  but  for  the  shattered  arm  hanging  helpless  at 
his  side,  proved  that  the  enemy's  victory  would  not  have 
been  a  bloodless  one  on  their  side. 

A  crowd  of  rude-voiced  men  in  the  hated  scarlet  uniform 
filled  the  rooms  with  coarse  jests  and  laughter,  while  many 
with  uplifted  torches  surveyed  with  unconcealed  triumph  the 
devastation  about  them,  or  stared  curiously  at  the  distressed 
family  into  which  they  had  brought  all  this  suffering  and 
desolation. 

The  captain,  a  gentlemanly  looking  young  man,  having 
posted  sentries  at  the  door  and  windows  to  guard  against 
any  possible  attempt  at  rescue,  now  approached  his  prisoner 
and  courteously  expressed  his  regret  that  he  should  have 
been  wounded  in  the  melee,  even  proffering  his  help  to  the 
ladies  in  bandaging  and  dressing  the  disabled  arm. 

As  Patty,  trembling  in  every  limb  yet  outwardly  com- 
posed and  intent  only  upon  making  the  General  as  com- 
fortable as  possible,  passed  by  the  shattered  door  of  the 
kitchen,  she  glanced  fearfully  for  an  instant  into  the  crowded 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  43 

room  and  saw  a  face — pale,  stem,  with  blood  stains  upon 
the  white  forehead,  that  hinted  at  a  desperate  resistance 
against  superior  numbers  before  its  owner  had  submitted  to 
the  indignity  of  yeilding  himself  a  prisoner  to  his  country's 
foes. 

Only  a  few  hours  before  that  face  had  glanced  so  brightly 
with  love  and  hope,  and  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  would  break 
as  she  noted  the  pinioned  arms  and  saw  the  rude  soldier 
who  had  him  in  charge  make  a  contemptuous  rejoinder  to 
some  question  that  she  could  not  hear. 

At  that  instant  he  looked  up  and  their  eyes  met. 
A  deep  flush  passed  over  his  face,  then  he  tried  to  smile 
encouragingly, but  the  effort  was  a  failure,  and  scarce  con- 
scious of  what  she  was  doing,  the  girl  made  a  step  toward  him 
with  what  intent  she  could  not  herself  have  explained,  but 
drawn  by  that  mysterious  sympathy  with,  and  longing  to 
comfort  the  object  of  her  affections  that  enables  woman  to 
brave  such  dangers  and  hardships,  only  to  stand  by  the  side 
of  him  she  loves  and  share  his  sufferings  even  if  she  can- 
not alleviate  them. 

"Be  quick,  there,  Miss  !" 

The  captain  spoke  impatiently,  for  every  moment  was  of 
importance,  and  although  common  humanity  had  forced 
him  to  accede  to  the  request  of  Mrs.  "Wads worth  to  delay 
until  she  could  bind  up  her  husband's  wound,  he  knew  that 
their  situation  was  a  perilous  one,  and  that  in  a  neighbor- 
hood so  sincerely  loyal  to  him,  the  news  of  the  General's 
capture  might,  at  any  moment,  bring  down  a  party  of 
armed  volunteers  to  the  rescue. 

The  arm  was  made  as  comfortable  as  possible,  the  last 
tearful  farewells  were  spoken,  and  the  British  troops  rode 
off  into  the  storm  and  darkness  with  their  prisoners,  leaving 
the  stunned  and  learned  household  in  the  midst  of  a  desola- 


44 


RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


lion  and  uncertainty  more  terrible  for  the  time  than  any- 
thing that  they  had  ever  imagined  in  their  darkest  dream  of 
possible  peril. 


:^t; 


PRETTY  PATTT  PARTON.  45 


CHAPTER     IV. 

Three  long  weeks  passed  before  the  anxious  hearts  in 
that  lonely  lodge  by  the  Penobscot  were  gladdened  by  the 
visit  of  a  British  officer  with  a  Hag  of  truce,  bearing  a  let- 
ter to  Mistress  Wadsworth  from  her  husband,  and  a  permit 
from  the  commander  of  the  fort  allowing  the  ladies  to  pay 
a  visit  to  the  prisoners  if  they  wished  to  do  so. 

The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted,  and  willingly  braving 
the  inconveniences  and  discomforts  of  a  journey  by  winter 
in  that  wild,  little  travelled  country,  the  two  ladies  with  the 
little  boys  set  ofi  under  the  escort  of  the  officer,  only  too 
thankful  to  leave  the  scene  of  their  dreadful  experiences, 
even  in  exchange  for  a  temporary  sojourn  among  enemies 
who,  however  courteous  as  men,  were  nevertheless  obliged 
to  do  their  stern  duty  as  soldiers  under  all  circumstances. 

'•I  have  written  to  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts."  the 
General  told  his  wife, when  their  first  tearful  yet  glad  meet- 
ing was  over.  And  she  sat  beside  him  in  the  bare,  yet  by  no 
means  comfortless  room  that  he  shared  with  his  fellow  pris- 
oner, Major  Burton,  "and  I  think  that  he  will  have  no  dif- 
ficulty in  managing  an  exchange  for  me  before  long.  With 
this  arm," — and  he  glanced  at  the  still  painful  and  helpless 
limb, — "I  need  home  care  and  comforts,  although  the  sur- 
geon here  is  skillful,  and  General  Campbell  sees  that  I  have 
the  best  care  that  can  be  given  me  under  the  circumstances." 
His  wife  glanced  at  the  bare,  hard  cot.  the  rudely  fash- 
ioned stools  that  served  for  seats,  and  the  unchinked  log 
walls   through    which    the   piercing    wintry    wind    crept  in 


46       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

through  a  hundred  crevices,  making  one  shiver  in  spite  of 
the  roaring  fire  in  the  great  stone  fire-place,  and  the  hot 
tears  rushed  to  her  eyes  as  she  cried  indignantly  : 

"It  is  barbarous  to  put  a  wounded  man  into  such  a  bare, 
comfortless  place  !  Xot  a  chair  or  even  a  decent  bed  to  rest 
your  tired  bones  on, — I  declare  it's  almost  as  bad  as  the 
iron  cage  that  that  cruel  old  French  king  used  to  put  people 
into." 

The  husband  laughed  good  humoredly.  "For  a  prisoner 
I  am  really  very  comfortably  placed.  My  fare  and  lodging 
are  as  good  as  the  officers  themselves  have,  with  some  tri- 
fling exceptions  ;  and  now  with  you  my  good  Dolly,  and  the 
boys  and  Patty  for  company  I  shall  be  as  good  as  whole  by 
the  time  that  the  two  weeks  allowed  you  here  are  passed." 
Patty  had  looked  up  and  smiled  somewhat  absently  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  name,  and  now  she  came  hastily  forward 
and  joined  the  family  group  with  a  warm  color  in  her 
cheeks  and  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  had  not  been  seen  there 
for  many  a  day. 

The  Major,  who  had  been  talking  with  her,  still  kept  his 
position  near  the  fire  into  which  he  was  gazing,  with  a  face 
so  gravely  impenetrable  that  his  friend  who  had  long  before 
guessed  his  secret,  tried  in  vain  to  find  a  reflection  of  his 
own  glad  satisfaction  there. 

Hurt,  wounded  as  he  had  been  by  the  girl's  brusqueness 
at  their  last  interview,  he  could  not  repress  a  thrill  of  joy 
at  the  sight  of  her  fair  young  face  once  more,  and  even 
while  he  mentally  styled  himself  a  ''presuming  fool"  to 
nourish  such  an  absurd  fancy,  he  could  not  be  blind  to  the 
womanly  solicitude  so  closely  approaching  tenderness  with 
which  she  expressed  her  sorrow  at  his  unfortunate  position, 
and  shyly  yet  with  evident  sincerity,  announced  her  deter- 
mination to  try  to  influence  his  captors  in  his  favor  so  far  as 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  47 

to  permit  her  to  procure  some  of  the  little  comforts  and  lux- 
uries of  home  life,  which  would  make  their  captivity  so 
much  more  endurable.  Perhaps  after  all,  he  had  been  too 
hasty  in  his  judgment  of  her,— and  for  many  succeeding 
days  he  watched  with  feverish  anxiety  every  change  of  her 
expressive  face,  and  listened  to  every  word  that  fell  from 
her  lips,  longing  to  find  something  wherewith  to  nourish  the 
sweet,  faint  hope  that  was  already  fluttering  in  his  secret 
heart. 

Although  allowed  daily  intercourse  with  the  prisoners, 
the  ladies  were  carefully  watched,— a  <ruard  being  always 
stationed  in  the  room  while  they  were  there  so  that  not  a 
word  or  look  could  pass  unobserved. 

It  was  a  matter  of  military  necessity— as  the  General  ex- 
plained to  Mistress  Dolly,  who  was  highly  indignant  that 
"that  gaping  Hessian,"  as  she  called  the  soldier  on  duty, 
should  stand  there  listening  to  every  word  that  passed  be- 
tween them,  making  any  private  conversation  absolutely 
impossible. 

The  British  general  at  New  York  had  been  notified  of 
the  capture  of  these  prominent  rebel  officers,  and  until  his 
pleasure  in  regard  to  them  should  be  known,  the  commander 
of  the  fort  was  obliged  to  exercise  constant  care  and  watch- 
fulness lest  any  facilities1  for  escape  should  be  afforded  them 
by  friends  outside.  With  this  understanding  and  the  prob- 
ability that  their  confinement  would  be  of  short  duration, 
the  prisoners  and  their  friends  submitted  to  the  inevitable 
with  tolerable  patience  and  cheerfulness. 

But  on  the  day  before  that  fixed  for  their  departure,  Pat- 
ty became  possessed  of  a  bit  of  secret  information  that  en- 
tirely changed  the  face  of  affairs  and  determined  her  to 
warn  the  prisoners  to  make  their  escape  as  soon  as  possible. 


48       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Taking  her  usual  afternoon  walk  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
fort,  she  caught  a  glimpse  at  a  cottage  window  of  what 
seemed  a  familiar  face,  and  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse  she 
knocked  at  the  door  which  was  opened  as  she  had  antici- 
pated, by  no  less  a  personage  than  her  little  pupil,  Scotch 
Jeanne. 

The  child's  face  flushed  joyfully,  and  with  shyly  extended 
hand  she  cried  out  in  her  old,  glad  fashion  : 

"And  it's  never  yerself,  Miss  Patty,  in  these  far  awa' 
pairts?  It's  blithe  I'd  be,  an  the  grannie  too — gin  ye'd  drap 
in  for  a  wee  an  toast  yer  cauld  fits  by  our  ain  ingleside.'' 

Patty  needed  no  second  invitation,  for  although  she  had 
long  since  learned  that  the  treacherous  Scotchman,  after 
having  betrayed  her  friends'  whereabouts  to  the  British  had, 
as  a  matter  of  personal  safety  as  well  as  profit,  removed  to 
the  vicinity  of  the  fort.  This  was  the  first  glimpse  she  had 
had  of  the  child  to  whom  she  had  become  sincerely  attached 
during  the  long,  pleasant  summer  months,  when  as  teacher 
and  pupil,  scarcely  a  day  had  passed  without  a  meeting  be- 
tween them. 

As  she  entered,  the  old  grandmother,  knitting  in  the 
chimney  corner  as  usual,  lifted  her  head  quickly  and  turned 
her  sightless  eyes  toward  her,  while  a  faint  flush  passed 
across  her  withered  cheek  as  she  said  with  a  cold  courtesy 
that  showed  her  not  altogether  pleased  at  the  unexpected 
meeting : 

"Gude  day  to  ye,  Miss  !  It's  blithe  I  am  for  Jeanne's 
sake  to  see  ye  ance  mair,  for  the  lassie  has  aye  grat  her 
een  oot  wi  longin'  for  ye." 

Seating  herself  by  the  neatly  swept  hearth,  Patty  replied 
to  the  questionings  of  the  old  dame  with  tolerable  patience. 
She  was  not  responsible  for  her  son's  rascalities,  and  it  was 
only  fair   to    suppose  her    possessed   of  common    womanly 


PRETTY  FATTY  PABTON.  49 

feeling.  So  the  girl  chatted  hopefully  in  regard  to  her  im- 
prisoned friends  and  the  almost  certain  prospect  of  a  speedy 
exchange  so  soon  as  orders  could  be  transmitted  from  head- 
quarters. 

As  she  talked  thus  cheerfully  she  happened  to  meet  the 
eye  of  Jeanne  who  was  hovering  about  her  chair  as  if  loth 
to  leave  her  for  a  moment,  and  was  startled  at  the  look  of 
mingled  perplexity  and  pity  upon  the  child's  expressive  face. 

The  old  grand-dame  still  knit  on  with  a  smile  that  might 
be  sympathetic  or  it  might  be  mocking  upon  her  thin  lips, 
but  Jeanne's  blue  eyes  were  misty  with  something  like  tears, 
and  as  she  met  her  friend's  look  she  silently  placed  a  finger 
upon  her  lip  and  shook  her  head  with  a  warning  gesture. 

Patty  was  quick  to  take  the  hint,  and  when  after  a  little 
longer  talk  upon  indifferent  subjects  she  rose  to  leave  with 
a  civil  good  night  to  the  old  dame,  she  was  not  surprised  to 
hear  Jeanne  say  while  she  hunted  about  for  her  cloak  and 
hood  : 

''It's  growin'  dark  an  I'll  gae  pairt  o'  the  way  wi'  ye, 
Miss  Patty.  The  sojers  a'  ken  me  an  they'll  no  dare  to  gie 
us  a  saucy  fling  gin  we  hap  to  meet  ane  o'  them." 

The  grandmother  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair  but  she 
could  find  no  reasonable  excuse  for  forbidding  the  child  to 
carry  out  her  kindly  project,  and  the  two  went  forth  to- 
gether, unheeding  the  vexed  look  and  muttered  warning  of 
the  suspicious  old  woman. 

Scarcely  were  they  out  of  earshot  before  Patty  asked  anx- 
iously : 

•'What  is  it  Jeanue  ?  you  have  something  to  tell  me  I 
know."  # 

Jeanne  glanced  backward  and  around  with  a  wary  look 
upon  her  shrewd  young  face,  then  pressing  close  to  her 
friend's  side  she  said  in  a  sharp  undertone  : 


50      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Word  has  coom,  Miss  Patty, — I  heard  daddy  tell  the 
oTanny  o't  the  nicht.  The  twa  rebels,  as  they  ca'  'em, 
(savin'  yer  presence,  Miss)  are  to  be  sent  over  the  seas  to 
be  tried  for  treason  at  the  king's  coort.  And  oh  !  my  leddy  ! 
the  daddy  says" — she  caught  her  breath  with  a  frightened 
sob — uthat  they'll  ne'er  coom  back  alive  gin  the  coort  over 
yon  gets  hold  of  'em." 

Patty  shook  and  trembled  in  every  limb,  but  her  voice 
was  firm  and  resolute  as  she  asked  : 

"How  soon  are  they  to  be  sent?" 

"As  sune  as  the  privateer,  the  Royal  George,  gets  hame 
fra  her  cruise.     And  she's  expectit  maist  ony  day." 

Patty  made  no  reply,  but  she  clasped  the  child's  hand  so 
closely  in  her  own  that  Jeanne  gave  a  low  cry  of  pain. 

"Dinna  grippit  sae  hard  !"  she  whimpered,  withdrawing 
her  hand  with  a  petulant  air,  "and  noo  Miss  Patty,  gude 
bye,  and  mind  ye  dinna  tell  a'  ye  ken  either  to  freend  or 
foe." 

With  this  practical  bit  of  advice  the  wee  woman  hurried 
back  homeward,  leaving  Patty  frightened,  bewildered,  but 
determined  to  let  her  friends  know  of  the  fate  that  awaited 
them,  and  if  possible,  in  some  way  to  aid  them  in  making 
their  escape  before  it  should  be  too  late. 

This,  then,  accounted  for  the  unusual  strictness  with 
which  the  ladies  had  been  watched  for  the  last  few  days, 
being  required  whenever  they  visited  the  fort  to  submit  to  a 
careful  search  of  their  clothing  by  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
soldiers,  lest  they  should  contrive  to  secrete  some  tool  by 
which  the  prisoners  could  make  their  escape. 

The  woman,  although  kind  and  considerate,  had  been 
very  thorough  in  her  search,  and  Patty's  heart  sank  within 
her  as  she  realized  the  extreme  difficulty  of  conveying  a 
message  even  to  put  her  imperilled  friends  upon  their  guard. 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  51 

After  thinking  the  matter  over  she  decided  to  say  nothing 
to  her  cousin,  wisely  concluding  that  the  secret  was  safest 
for  the  present  in  her  own  breast,  for  if  the  General's  wife 
suspected  his  peril  it  would  add  a  double  pang  to  their  part- 
ing upon  the  morrow,  while  there  was  no  possible  way  in 
which  she  could  aid  him  to  escape  without  arousing  the 
suspicions  of  his  alert  and  watchful  captors. 

What  was  done  she  must  do  herself,  alone  and  unaided, 
and  resolutely  she  set  herself  to  work  to  contrive  some  way 
by  which  they  might  not  only  be  warned  of  their  danger, 
but  help  conveyed  to  them  in  some  form  under  the  very 
eyes  and  ears  of  their  watchful  sentinels. 

A  duplicate  key  would  be  of  no  use,  for  even  if  they 
could  unlock  the  door  of  their  room  they  could  not  pass  the 
sentry  without  being  instantly  discovered  as  soon  as  they 
set  foot  beyond  the  limits  allowed  them.  The  windows 
were  mere  narrow  loop-holes  in  the  log  walls,  and  were 
guarded  by  iron  bars  that  could  not  be  filed  off  without  at- 
tracting the  notice  of  the  guard  either  within  and  without. 

The  risk  in  attempting  to  bribe  the  guard  was  too  great, 
with  the  certainty  in  case  of  failure  of  more  severe  pre- 
cautions being  taken  to  secure  the  hapless  prisoners  until 
the  arrival  of  the  expected  vessel  should  root  out  the  last 
lingering  hope  of  escape,  and  doom  them  to  captivity  and 
probable  death  in  a  foreign  land. 

Every  way  that  pointed  to  liberty  seemed  double  barred 
and  locked, and  in  the  face  of  her  utter  helplessness  the  girl's 
despairing  heart  sent  up  a  wordless  cry  for  help — for  some- 
thing that  would  supply  the  needed  hint  for  which  her  tor- 
tured brain  groped  and  wrestled  in  vain. 

The  General's  little  sons  were  playing  contentedly  upon 
the  hearth  beside  her,  while  their  mother  in  sorrowful  si- 
lence was  putting  the  finishing  stitches  into  a  garment  for 


02       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

her  husband,  pausing  now  and  then  to  brush  away  a  tear  as 
she  plied  her  needle  in  this  last  labor  of  love.  Patty  sighed 
deeply  in  her  perplexity,  and  as  she  glanced  abstractedly  at 
the  little  ones  in  their  unconscious  play,  her  eye  fell  upon 
a  small  object  beside  them  whose  glitter  attracted  her  atten- 
tion, and  as  by  a  sudden  flash  of  inspiration,  suggested  all 
at  once  at  plan— so  simple,  so  hopeful,  that  it  was  all  she 
could  do  to  refrain  from  giving  utterance  to  the  glad  triumph 
that  filled  her  heart  at  that  instant. 

It  was  only  a  gimlet  that  the  children  had  been  using  in 
the  manufacture  of  a  toy  wagon,  aDd  as  she  quietly  picked 
it  up,  unnoticed  by  any  one,  her  fingers  trembled,  and  her 
breath  came  hot  and  quick  as  she  realized  that  upon  this 
little  insignificant  tool  rested  the  liberty,  perhaps  the  lives 

even  of  the  two  brave  men  for  whose  rescue  she  was  plan- 
ning. 

That  night,  before  she  slept,  she  wrote  in  as  few  words 
as  possible,  an  outline  of  her  plan  upon  a  bit  of  paper  which 
she  wound  carefully  about  the  gimlet,  then,  with  a  mis- 
chievous smile  that  contrasted  oddly  with  her  pale,  agitated 
face  and  tearful  eyes,  she  produced  the  very  knot  of  ribbon 
for  which  her  gallant  suitor  had  pleaded  so  humbly  on  that 
never  to  be  forgotten  evening  a  few  short  weeks  ago,  and 
with  no  little  skill  and  ingenuity,  contrived  to  conceal  within 
its  intricaces.  the  tiny  tool  with  its  precious  bit  of  paper,  so 
carefully  secured  with  numberless  invisible  stitches  that 
there  seemed  little,  if  any  probability  of  its  being  discov- 
ered, even  by  the  sharp  eyes  of  their  undesired  tire-woman 
at  the  fort. 


Perhaps  it  was  to  conceal  his  own  budding  hopes  that  the 
Major,  in  their  parting  interview,  was  so  reserved — ''cold 
and    distant"  as  Pattv  called  it — as,    with   wildly   beating 


PRETTY  PATTY  PAKTON.  53 

heart  and  eyes  overflowing  with  tears  that  she  took  no  pains 
to  conceal,  she  bad  hira  good-bye  in  a  tone  that  to  a  vainer 
or  more  self-complacent  man.  would,  of  itself,  have  certainly 
betrayed  the  softness  of  her  heart  toward  him. 

If  he  would  only  ask  her  for  some  keepsake,  as  he  had 
done  at  their  former  parting,  she  could  so  easily  bestow  the 
knot  of  ribbon,  with  its  fateful  contents,  unsuspected  by  the 
watchful  sentinel  whose  curious  eyes  watched  them  with  a 
knowing  air  that  was  particularly  exasperating. 

In  vain  she  tried  to  give  him  a  hint  to  that  effect.  With 
true  masculine  obtuseness  he  failed  to  understand  the  neces- 
sarily vague  allusions,  which  were  all  she  dared  venture 
upon  ;  and  at  last  baffled  and  at  her  wits'  ends,  she  slowly 
turned  to  follow  her  cousin  from  the  room  with  a  feeling  of 
utter  desperation  at  leaving  undone  the  work  that  she  had 
determined  to  accomplish  at  this  last  interview. 

At  the  door  she  stopped,  hesitated — then  moved  to  des- 
peration by  the  remembrance  of  the  fate  impending  over  the 
unconscious  prisoners,  she  turned  suddenly,  and,  unmindful 
of  the  contemptuous  grin  of  the  British  soldier,  and  the  far 
more  trying  looks  of  mortification  and  perplexity  upon  the 
faces  of  her  friends, deliberately  unfastened  the  knot  from  her 
bosom  and  boldly  advancing  a  step,  held  it  out  to  the  aston- 
ished Major  with  a  coquettish  laugh,  and  the  half  petulant 
comment : 

;,Very  well,  then,  if  you  care  for  the  'toy'  as  you  call  it, 
take  it.  But  be  sure,"  she  added,  roguishly,  "that  you 
keep  it  unsoiled,  for.  when  we  meet  again  in  Boston,  I 
shall  expect  it  back  again." 

She  had  acted  her  part  to  perfection,  but  her  cheeks 
crimsoned  painfully  and  not  once  did  she  dare  to  lift  her 
eyes  to  meet  those  of  the  man  to  whom  she  thus  spoke  so 
boldly. 


34 


RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


They  will  understand  it  all  when  they  find  what  is  hidden 
in  the  knot,  she  repeated  over  and  over  to  herself,  to  soothe 
her  wounded  maidenly  dignity.  But  the  tears  that  she  so- 
freely  mingled  with  those  of  the  sad  hearted  wife  were  as 
much  of  mortification  as  sorrow  at  the  bold,  and  she  felt  it, 
the  unwomanly  position  in  which  she  had  been  actually 
forced  to  place  herself  to  save  her  friends. 


C^; 


PRETTY   PATTY  PABTOS 


55 


CHAPTER    V. 

General  Wadsworth  studied  thoughtfully  the  slip  of  paper 
that  his  companion  placed  in  his  hand  after  having  himself 
perused  its  contents  with  a  brightening  face. 

'•It  is  a  bold  scheme,  but — " 

"The  only  one  that  oifers  any  hope  of  success,"  appended 
the  Major  hopefully. 

'•Look  at  our  situation  here.  General, — close  prisoners, 
watched  night  and  day  by  the  sentinels  outside  ;  our  win- 
dows barred,  and  even  if  it  were  possible  to  loosen  the  bars 
and  creep  through,  we  should  be  seen  by  the  sentinels  on 
the  walls  before  we  could  possibly  find  a  hiding  place." 

"True — " 

And  as  the  guard,  in  passing,  at  that  instant,  glanced 
inquisitively  through  the  glass  that  formed  the  upper  part  of 
their  door,  the  General  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stretched 
his  feet  out  lazily  toward  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  adding  only 
after  the  fellow  had  passed  on  : 

"But  there  are  the  sentinels  inside  the  barracks  as  well 
as  out  to  be  evaded.  I  don't  see  how,  if  we  are  to  follow 
my  wise  little  kinswoman's  plans,  we  are  to  get  past  them 
without  detection." 

Burton  smiled,  and  involuntarily  his  hand  sought  the  spot 
beneath  which,  close  to  his  heart,  the  bit  of  ribbon  with  its 
fateful  toy  lay  concealed. 

"It  is  the  very  boldness  of  the  plan  that  makes  it  practi- 
cable. Nobody  will  think  of  our  trying  to  escape  by  the 
main    entrance,    and  we   must   choose   a   dark   and  stormy 


56       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

night,  when  the  sentries  will  be  so  taken  up  with  trying  to 
keep  comfortable  themselves  that  they  won't  keep  a  very 
sharp  lookout  for  escaping  prisoners,  especially,"  and  he 
sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  "as  we  must  keep  up  the  pre- 
tense of  expecting  our  parole  daily  If  General  Campbell 
once  mistrusts  that  we  know  what  his  orders  really  are,  in 
regard'to  us,  he  will  naturally  suspect  that,  in  very  desper- 
ation, we  will  try  to  escape  and  will  be  doubly  vigilant." 

The  General  leaned  his  head  upon  his  wounded  arm  and 
sighed  bitterly. 

"You  had  better  try  the  plan  alone,"  he  urged,  with  a 
dejection  that  physical  suffering  and  his  prison  life  were  fast 
making  habitual  with  him. 

"With  my  useless  arm  I  never  can  make  the  exertion 
that  will  be  necessary  in  scaling  the  walls  of  the  fort,  and 
even  if  we  manage  to  clear  that  barrier  how  can  I  make  my 
way  in  this  plight  through  the  long  miles  of  wild  forest  that 
we  shall  have  to  travel  through  before  we  find  a  settlement? 
No,  it's  no  use  for  me  to  try,  I  should  only  be  a  clog  upon 
you.  while  alone  and  unincumbered  you  might  have  a  fair 
chance  to  get  off  undetected." 

"General  Wads  worth,"  and  the  younger  man  laid  his 
hand  with  almost  a  woman's  tenderness  upon  the  bowed 
shoulder  of  his  friend,  "this  is  not  like  you,  and  is  due  to 
nothing  in  the  world  but  the  effect  of  that  unlucky  wound 
upon  your  spirits.  Think  of  your  good  lady  and  her  boys, 
and  what  it  will  be  to  them  if  you  are  left  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  our  enemies  across  the  seas?  Besides,"  he  added 
hopefully,  "this  plan  of  ours  will  take  several  weeks  of 
preparation,  and  all  that  time  your  arm  will  be  growing 
stronger  and  your  strength  coming  back  to  you  day  by  day. 
At  any  rate,"  and  a  smile  of  grim  humor  curved  his  shapely 
lips,  "we  must   do,    as  Franklin   said,    'Hang  together  or 


PRETTY  PATTY  PABTON.  57 

hang  separately.'  "  The  General  nodded  approvingly.  The 
spirit  of  brave  adventure,  that  pain  and  anxiety  had.  for 
the  time,  somewhat  tamed,  awoke  as  by  a  touch,  and  the 
dark  eves  flashed  back  an  answering  fire  as  he  muttered 
between  his  set  teeth  : 

"We'll  risk  it,  comrade,  and  God  pity  him  who  dares  to 
let  or  hinder  us  in  our  break  for  freedom.*' 

A  bold  resolve  once  taken  it  is  wonderful  how  great  is 
the  reaction  upon  a  man's  spirits,  and  the  sentinel,  pacing 
constantly  the  long  corridor  before  the  door  of  the  prisoners' 
room,  paused  every  now  and  then  to  look  in  upon  them, 
with  a  kind  of  half  pitying  wonder,  as  they  played  at  the 
then  favorite  American  game  of  checkers,  or  took  turns  in 
reading  aloud  from  a  copy  of  Shakespeare  lent  them  by  the 
courteous  commander,  General  Campbell. 

How  could  men  with  the  fate  of  traitors  hanging  over 
them  seem  so  cheerful,  even  merry,  at  times  ?  And  the 
honest  fellow,  (for  he  was  an  honest  fellow  if  England  had 
sent  him  across  seas  to  do  her  dirty  work  in  the  rebellious 
colonies.)  thought  of  his  own  humble  home  in  far  off  Ger- 
many, where  the  tidy  hausfrau  and  her  chubby,  blue-eyed 
little  ones  watched  and  prayed  for  him,  and  he  wondered  a 
little,  perhaps,  in  his  stupid  fashion,  if  his  sovereign  lord, 
the  Prince  of  Hesse,  really  had  the  right  to  hire  out  his 
loyal  subjects  to  fight  another  nation's  battles,  and  perhaps, 
— with  a  sigh — to  find  a  bloody  grave  in  this  stranger  land, 
where  little  Gretchen  and  Jan  could  not  even  plant  the  blue 
flowers  of  the  dear  fatherland  above  his  uncared  for  dust. 

"What  was  there,  even  then,  in  the  very  air  of  this  great, 
free  land,  fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  awaken  in  men's 
souls  an  irresistible  protest  against  the  tyranny  of  race  and 

habit?  a  protest  that,  although,  as  in  this  case,  it  might  be 
5 


58       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

wordless,  almost  unconscious,  at  the  time,  was  yet  to  bear 
rare  fruit  in  the  future  regeneration  of  the  Nations. 

But  our  sharp-eyed  Hessian  was  far  less  interested  in  the 
movements  of  his  sleeping  than  of  his  waking  charge,  and 
as,  at  the  usual  seasonable  hour  the  candle  was  extin- 
guished and  quiet  reigned  in  the  prisoners'  room,  he  never 
thought  to  refer  the  low,  grating  sound  that  occasionally 
met  his  ears  as  he  passed  their  door,  to  anything  of  more 
importance  than  the  gnawing  of  a  solitary  rat.  The  night 
was  too  dark  for  him  to  distinguish  the  Major's  tall  figure 
standing  upon  a  table  in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room 
and  patiently  boring  with  the  precious  gimlet  a  row  of  tiny 
holes  across  the  end  of  one  of  the  boards  with  which  the 
room  was  ceiled. 

It  was  terribly  slow  and  tedious  work,  as  the  prisoners 
had  foreseen,  and  with  all  his  exertions  the  cautious  work- 
man only  succeeded  in  this  first  attempt  in  making  some 
five  or  six  perforations  so  close  together  that  they  could 
easily  be  separated  when  the  time  came,  by  the  aid  of  the 
General's  penknife,  which  he  had  been  permitted  to  retain, 
as  a  weapon  too  insignificant  to  do  any  possible  harm. 

These  holes  the  wary  workman  carefully  plugged  with 
bits  of  chewed  bread,  that,  being  rubbed  smooth  with  dusty 
fingers,  served  as  a  complete  blind  to  any  possibly  suspic- 
ious eyes,  whether  of  friend  or  foe. 

For  the  first  few  days  the  twain  lived  in  a  constant  ner- 
vous dread  of  discovery,  but  as  the  days  slipped  by,  each 
finding  the  work  progressing  surely  if  slowly,  a  strange,  but 
not  unnatural  exhilaration  replaced  their  earlier  apprehen- 
siveness,  and  with  the  quaint  humor  of  his  race,  the  younger 
man  delighted  in  quizzing  the  rather  obtuse  British  officers, 
who  were  glad  to  vary  the  monotony  of  their  quiet  life  in 
the  fort  by  frequent  calls  upon  their  intelligent,  bright  witted 


PRETTT  PATTY  PARTON.  59 

prisoners,  whom,  in  spite  of  their  political  offences  they 
«ould  not  but  respect,  as  honest,  large  minded  men,  of  the 
same  blood  and  speech  as  their  own.  At  the  Commandent's 
table,  where  they  were  often  invited,  and  where  they  met 
socially  the  officers  of  the  garrison,  the  patriots  never 
for  an  instant  forgot  their  allegiance  to  their  own  cause 
-and  country,  while  the  Major  especially,  with  his  quick 
wit.  never  failed  to  turn  the  tables  upon  any  boasting 
Briton  who  took  occasion  to  cast  a  slur  upon  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  its  brave  defenders. 

Upon  one  occasion,  a  young  officer  inflamed  with  wine 
and  willing  to  raise  a   laugh    at  the  expense   of  the   patriot 
guests,  rose  in  his  seat  and  gravely  proposed  as  a  toast : 

'•George  Washington, — dead  or  alive." 

General  Wadsworth's  swarthy  cheek  flushed  an  angry 
red,  and  he  half  rose  from  his  seat  with  words  of  fierce  re- 
tort upon  his  lips,  but  his  more  prudent  companion  held  him 
firmly  by  the  sleeve.  • 'Leave  him  to  me,"  he  whispered, 
and  when  called  upon  in  his  turn,  he  gave,  with  a  signifi- 
cant emphasis,  that  made  more  than  one  brow  redden  with 
a  consciousness  of  its  disgraceful  aptness  : 

'•The  Prince  of  Wales, — drunk  or  sober." 

In  an  instant  the  young  officer  was  upon  his  feet,  and 
forgetful  of  the  courtesy  due  an  unarmed  prisoner,  fiercely 
demanded  satisfaction  for  the  insult  offered  to  the  heir  of 
England's  crown.  Some  of  the  older  officers  interfered, 
but  the  Yankee  Major  was  equal  to  the  emergency  : 

'•You  have  made  a  mistake,  sir,"  was  his  coolly  una- 
bashed reply,  "My  toast  was  not  intended  as  an  insult,  but 
simply   a  reply  to   one." 

But  in  spite  of  these  welcome  breaks  in  the  monotony 
of  their  prison  life,  the  patriots  found  their  time  hanging 
heavy  upon    their    hands,    and  as    the    Spring    wind  bore 


60      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

to  them  through  the  open  window  the  sweet,  familiar 
scents  of  budding  birch  and  maple,  and  as  the  salty  air 
from  the  bay  grew  every  day  softer  and  warmer,  they 
found  it  hard  to  restrain  their  impatience  to  hasten  the 
completion  of  their  plans  for  escape. 

What  bright,  moonlit  nights,  those  nights  of  early  June 
were  that  year,  —  gliding  one  after  another  like  crystal  beads 
upon  a  silver  thread,  so  calm  and  serene  and  cloudless,  that 
the  impatient  prisoners  fretted  with  the  delay,  half  de- 
spaired of  being  able  to  effect  their  escape  before  the  priva- 
teer, which  was  every  day  expected,  should  make  her  ap- 
pearance, and  bear  them  away  from  home  and  native  land, 
to  a  terrible  imprisonment,  or,  as  their  fears  foreboded,  an 
ignominious  death. 

But  the  long  hoped  and  prayed  for  hour  came  at  last,  and 
as  the  shadows  deepened  upon  the  afternoon  of  one  of  those 
wearisomely  long,  bright  days,  the  dark  masses  of  cloud 
rolling  up  from  the  west,  with  low  mutterings  of  distant 
thunder,  portended  the  anxiously  looked  for  storm,  and  Ma- 
jor Burton  turned  from  the  window  where  he  had  been 
watching  with  beating  heart  the  weather  signs,  and  ap- 
proaching his  comrade,  who  sat  dejectedly  by  the  tireless 
hearth  he  whispered  exultantly  : 

"We're  sure  of  our  storm  to-night,  General,  and  we 
must  take  our  chance  of  liberty  or  death.  For," — and  his 
tones  were  those  of  a  brave  man  nerved  to  meet  the  worst, 
— "if  we  are  discovered,  the  sentry  won't  mind  shooting 
us  on  the  spot,  like  dogs." 

The  General  nodded  gravely,  and  there  was  not  a  trace 
of  fear  or  irresolution  in  his  calm  tones,  as  he  replied : 

"I  appreciate  the  risk,  and  am  all  ready  for  the  venture. 
But,  Major,"  and  he  glanced  with  a  fatherly  pride  at  the 
stalwart  form   and  brave  young  face  beside  him,   "I  have 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  61 

been  going  over  the  details  of  our  plan,  bit  by  bit,  and  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  will  be  safest  for  us, 
when  once  clear  of  the  barracks,  to  separate,  and  each  make 
his  way  as  best  he  can  over  the  wall  and  through  the 
woods  to  the  river.  No,"  checking  the  eager  remonstrance 
that  rose  to  the  younger  man's  lips, — "I  shall  not  need  your 
help  after  we  are  once  clear  of  the  barracks,  and  it  is 
always  easier  for  one  man  to  elude  pursuit  than  for  two." 

A  few  weeks  earlier  Burton  would  not  for  an  instant  have 
listened  to  a  proposal  of  this  kind,  but  in  that  time  the  Gen- 
eral's wouud  had  greatly  improved,  and  with  it  his  bodily 
strength  and  courage  had  come  back  to  him,  so  that,  once 
clear  of  the  fort,  and  fairly  adrift  in  the  forest,  his  chaDces 
were  quite  as  good  as  those  of  his  younger  and  more  robust 
companion. 

Meanwhile  the  darkness  grew  denser,  the  roll  of  the 
thunder  nearer,  and  the  servant  who  brought  their  supper 
reported  that  the  wind  had  increased  to  a  gale,  while  the 
rain  was  pouring  down  in  torrents,  with  little  probability 
of  a  let  up  before  midnight .  "It'll  be  a  tumble  night  fr 
the  sentries,"  observed  the  servant,  as  he  laid  the  table  for 
supper,  pausing  every  now  and  then  in  his  work  to  listen 
to  the  clatter  of  the  rain  on  the  shingled  roof. 

"  'F  /was  in  their  shoes,  I'd  do  as  most  likely  they  will, 
keep  inside  the  boxes, — I  guess  there  won't  nobody  want 
ter  git  out  or  in  the  fort  in  sech  all  fired  mean  weather 
as  this." 

He  was  a  raw,  country  youth,  hired  by  the  officers  of  the 
fort  for  menial  duty,  and  supposed  to  care  nothing  for  one 
side  or  the  other  so  long  as  the  wages  due  him  were  promptly 
paid  in  good  bright  English  silver.  But  as  he  lifted  his 
head  for  an  instant,  to  intimate  that  their  meal  was  ready, 
his  eyes  met  those    of  Major  Burton    with   a  swift  look   of 


62       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

intelligence  that  was  as  quickly  exchanged  for  his  usual 
stolid  indifference,  as,  making  his  awkward  conge,  he  dis- 
appeared through  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  they  heard 
him  exchanging  rough  jokes  with  the  guard  outside. 

Taken  by  surprise  as  he  was,  the  Major  was  startled  as 
well  as  puzzled.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  stupid  lout 
had  in  any  way  got  an  inkling  of  their  plan  of  escape,  and 
intended  his  reference  to  the  probable  shirking  of  duty  on 
the  part  of  the  sentinels  to  be  taken  as  a  hint  of  the  fitness 
of  the  time  for  their  attempt  ? 

It  seemed  unlikely,  and  yet  there  was  certainly  a  look  of 
intelligence  in  that  momentary  glance  that  he  had  never 
seen  in  the  dull  face  before.  He  remembered  too,  that  this 
Billy  Button,  as  the  soldiers  had  nicknamed  him,  had  a 
father  and  brother  in  Washington's  army,  a  fact  that  he 
had  only  learned  by  accident  a  short  time  before,  and  which 
he  had  been  asked  not  to  communicate  to  the  youth's  em- 
ployers : 

"Mebbe  'twill  lose  me  my  place,"  he  had  urged,  "and 
with  maam  sick,  an'  four  of  'em  too  little  ter  work,  I've 
got  to  earn  a  livin'  f  r  the  lot  somehow  " 

At  any  rate  the  hint  made  the  outlook  an  encouraging 
one,  and  as,  at  the  usual  hour  for  retiring,  the  two  laid 
down  without  removing  their  clothes  upon  the  narrow 
camp  beds  and  listened  with  grateful  hearts  to  the  tumult 
of  the  elements  without,  it  is  certain  that  their  chances  for 
escape  looked  even  more  hopeful  than  they  had  done  when 
contemplated  farther  off. 

The  blankets  that  were  to  serve  them  for  ropes  were 
torn  into  broad  strips  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  and  then 
carefully  knotted  together,  while  to  one  end  was  securely 
fastened  a  strong  oaken  forestick    that  had  been  saved  from 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  63 

the  firewood  weeks  before  and  secreted  for  this  very  pur- 
pose. 

Although  light  as  a  cat  upon  his  stockinged  feet, it  is  doubt- 
ful if  the  Major  could  have  made  all  the  necessary  arrange, 
ments  without  attracting  the  notice  of  the  sentry  had  the 
nigh't  been  a  calm  and  quiet  one.  But  with  the  creakiug 
and  groaning  of  the  unseasoned  beams  and  rafters  ;  the 
ceaseless  pelting  of  the  rain,  and  the  wild  gusts  of  wind 
that,  swooping  around  the  unsheltered  corners,  howled  long 
and  loud,  like  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves,  there  was  little 
danger  that  the  low,  sharp  wrrench  of  the  parting  wood,  as 
the  slender  supports  at  the  corners  of  the  perforated  board 
yielded  to  the  strokes  of  the  penknife,  would  be  noticed, 
although  Burton's  strong  heart  stood  still  for  an  instant  in 
sudden  terror,  as,  standing  upon  the  table,  and  balancing 
for  a  moment  upon  his  upstretched  palm  the  just  severed 
plank,  he  heard  the  steps  of  the  sentinel  pause  outside  the 
door,  and  in  spite  of  the  utter  darkness,  was  conscious  that 
the  latch  was  cautiously  lifted  and  an  intrusive  head  thrust 
in,  to  make  sure,  by  the  sense  of  hearing,  that  all  was  right 
with  his  charge. 

With  the  instinct  of  self  preservation,  the  young  man 
grasped  with  both  hands  the  heavy  planking,  and  had  the 
intruder  advanced  a  pace  farther  into  the  room  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  he  would  ever  have  left  it  alive.  It  was  only  for  a 
moment,  but  a  lifetime  of  agonizing  suspense  seemed  to 
have  passed  in  that  darkened  room  before  the  General's 
heavy  breathing  reassured  the  sentinel,  who,  softly  closing 
the  door  behind  him,  resumed  his  measured  tread,  while 
Burton,  fairly  unnerved  by  the  reaction,  dropped  noiselessly 
upon  the  table  and  laughed  until  the  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks  To  think  that  the  General  should  have  had  the 
cunning  at  such  a  moment    to  teijru  that  familiar  snore  that 


64       RE-TOLD  TALES   OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

his  room-mate  had  so  often  rallied  him  upon  !  It  was  a  joke 
upon  that  over  watchful  rascal  outside  well  worth  the  mo- 
ment of  suffering  that  he  had  himself  endured,  and  a  low, 
guarded  chuckle  from  his  companion's  cot  showed  that  he 
was  by  no  means  above  being  gratified  at  the  success  of  his 
ruse. 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  65 


CHAPTER    VI. 

It  was  almost  midnight,  and  the  storm  was  at  its  fiercest, 
when,  all  the  arrangements  having  been  completed,  Major 
Burton  climbed  with  some  difficulty  through  the  narrow 
opening,  and  adjusting  the  oaken  stick  to  which  their 
improvised  rope  was  fastened,  across  the  aperture,  with  his 
assistance,  his  companion  in  spite  of  his  disabled  arm  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  ascent,  and  as  they  rested  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  the  General  might  take  breath  for  the  harder 
and  more  perilous  work  before  them,  the  latter  whispered 
sharply,  and  in  that  familiar  tone  of  command  that  no  sub- 
ordinate would  dream  of  disobeying  : 

'•Remember — when  we  get  clear  of  the  entry,  you  will 
make  for  the  north-east  wall  anil  will  take  the  n)rth-west. 
In  that  way  if  one  of  us  is  discovered  the  other  will  stand 
a  fair  chance  of  getting  away,  for  the  attention  of  the  senti- 
nels will  naturally  be  distracted  from  every  other  part  of 
the  wall  for  the  time." 

Then  with  a  huskiness  in  his  tones  that  did  no  dishonor 
to  his  minliness,  he  added,  with  a  warm  clasp  of 
his  comrade's  hand:  "We  are  running  a  terrible  risk,  and 
very  likely  may  never  meet  again  in  this  world,  but 
with  your  youth  and  strength,  the  chances  are,  of  course, 
greater  in  your  favor  than  in  mine.  Now,  if  I  don't 
come  out  of  this  alive,  tell'  my  Dolly  that  it  was  the 
thought  of  her  and  our  boys  that  nerved  me  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, and  if  I  die,  let  her  comfort  herself  with  the  thought 
that  I  died  as  a  Christian  man  and  a  patriot  should." 


66       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

The  young  man's  fervent  hand  clasp  made  any  spoken 
words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement  unneeded,  while 
stealthily  and  in  perfect  silence  they  crept  along  over  the 
heads  of  the  sleeping  officers  who  occupied  the  other  rooms 
opening  from  the  corridor,  until  the  middle  entry  was 
reached,  and  peering  down  they  saw,  by  the  dim  light  of  a 
lantern  hanging  upon  the  wall  that  the  passage  was  empty 
and  the  door  open  and  unguarded. 

Through  this  they  passed  heedless  of  the  pelting  rain, 
and  without  so  much  as  a  whispered  word,  separated,  as  the 
General  had  planned,  to  attempt  the  perilous  ascent  of  the 
well  guarded  wall,  each  by  himself  and  from  exactly  oppo- 
site points.  This  was  by  far  the  hardest  task  for  the 
wounded  soldier,  and  more  than  once,  bruised  and  breath- 
less, and  tortured  by  the  pain  that  this  rough  usage  was 
causing  his  scarcely  healed  wound,  he  might  perhaps  have 
given  up  in  despair  had  not  the  memory  of  those  dear  ones 
for  whose  sake  the  adventure  bad  been  undertaken,  nerved 
him  to  more  desperate  exertions,  until,  after  repeated  fail- 
ures, he  found  himself  upon  the  ramparts, greatly  exhausted, 
but  conscious  of  an  exultant  thrill  of  satisfaction  that  sent 
the  blood  coursing  wildly  through  his  veins  and  made  him 
bold  to  face  the  perils  and  hardships  still  awaiting  him.  His 
breath  came  hot  and  thick,  as,  when  cautiously  gathering 
himself  up  to  cross  the  unsheltered  six  feet  width  of  wall 
that  lay  before  him,  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
watch, — the  sentinels  being  just  then  shifted, — and  knew 
that,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  the  man's  keen  eyes  could  not 
fail  to  recognize  that  this  was  not  one  of  his  comrades 
should  he  get  a  fair  look  at  him.  Instinctively  he  dropped 
flat  upon  his  face  on  the  ground,  and  the  unsuspicious  Bri- 
ton passing  so  near  that  the  skirts  of  his  overcoat  brushed 
against  the  prostrate  form,  hurried  grumbling  to  the  shelter 


PRETTY  PATTY  PABTON.  67 

of  the  nearest  sentry  box.  never  dreaming  of  the  importan  t 
prize  that  had  been  so  nearly  in  his  grasp. 

Not  venturing  to  stand  erect,  the  General  crept  across 
the  wall,  and  fastening  his  blanket  to  one  of  the  row  of 
pickets  that  protected  the  outer  edge,  he  cautiously  let  him- 
self down  between  the  bristling  branches  and  sharply 
pointed  stakes  of  the  fr  a  is  inland  struck  out  boldly  into  the 
darkness  in  the  direction  of  the  cove.  Stumbling  over  the 
stumps  and  fallen  tree  trunks  of  a  half  cleared  field,  bruis- 
ing himself  cruelly  against  the  rough  boulders,  and  uncer- 
tain in  the  darkness  whether  he  were  really  in  the  right 
track  or  not.  he  groped  his  way,  feeling  where  he  could  not 
see,  until,  to  his  great  relief,  he  found  himself  upon  the 
shore,  aDd  taking  advantage  of  the  low  tide,  succeeded  by 
wading  waist  deep,  in  crossing  the  half  mile  of  water,  from 
which  point  he  had  no  trouble  in  secreting  himself  in  the 
familiar  forest  beyond.  Exhausted,  breathless,  and  wet  to 
the  skin,  yet  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  the  most  profound 
thankfulness  that  the  fugitive  threw  himself  down  upon  the 
damp  earth  at  the  foot  of  a  low  growing  pine,  whose  thick 
branches  made  a  welcome  protection  against  the  pouring 
rain,  and  composed  himself  to  wait  with  all  the  patience 
he  could  muster,  the  approach  of  daylight,  without  which  it 
would  be  useless  for  him  to  try  to  increase  the  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  the  fort. 

Evidently  the  storm  had  spent  its  first  strength,  for  the 
patter  of  the  raindrops  upon  his  leafy  roof  grew  gradually 
fainter  ;  the  thunder  sank  to  a  far  off  muttering  ;  and  the 
rare  flashes  of  lightning,  revealing  for  an  instant  to  his  daz- 
zled eyes,  a  labyrinth  of  dark  tree  trunks  that  seemed  to 
extend  indefinitely  in  every  direction,  had  lost  the  fierce  in- 
tensity that,  while  under  the  shadow  of  the  fort,  had    seemed 


68       RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

like  an  unfriendly  flash-light,  whose  sole  object  was  to  make 
of  him  an  illumined  target  for  the  guns  of  his  enemies. 

Once  within  the  friendly  shelter  of  his  native  forests  he 
felt  comparatively  secure, — "at  home,"  he  called  it,  with  a 
smile,  as,  led  by  the  familiar  scent,  he  plucked  a  handful 
of  the  cool,  crisp  checkerberry  leaves,  chewing  them  with  a 
relish  that  no  prison  fare  had  ever  been  able  to  afford. 

Lying  there  in  the  darkness,  and  with  all  his  senses  on 
the  alert  to  catch  the  faintest  sound  that  might  betoken  the 
approach  of  a  human  being,  and  divided  between  fear  of 
possible  pursuers  and  the  hope  of  being  joined  by  his  fellow 
fugitive,  he  yet  felt  an  inward  exaltation  that  really  amounted 
to  a  conviction  that  the  safety  of  both  was  practically  as- 
sured : 

Perfectly  familiar  with  all  that  part  of  the  country,  and 
trained  in  all  the  shifts  and  hardships  incident  to  a  pioneer 
life,  there  was  no  undue  confidence  in  his  belief  of  being 
able  to  baffle  any  effort  on  the  part  of  hisunguided  pursuers, 
to  recapture  either  himself  or  his  hardy  comrade,  if  they 
were  once  safe  in  this  leafy  wilderness,  whose  every  feature 
was  as  familiar  to  their  practiced  eyes  as  the  face  of  their 
dearest  friend. 

"They  might  as  well  look  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack," — 
and  half  unconsciously,  he  pressed  his  cheek  against  the 
rough  barked  stem  of  the  friendly  pine,  whose  resinous 
breath  was  like  a  whiff  from  the  burning  logs  upon  his  own 
home  hearth. 

Perhaps  in  his  weariness  he  dozed  a  little,  forgetful  of  the 
necessity  for  constant  watchfulness,  but  the  June  sun  is  an 
early  riser,  and  a  woodthrush  close  to  his  ear  giving  the 
signal  that  night  was  really  over  and  the  new  day  close  at 
hand,  he  started  up  wide  awake,  and  with  the  pleasant  con- 
sciousness that  the  grey   light,  already  stealing  in  between 


PRETTY  PATTY  PABXON.  69 

the  columned  tree  trunks,  and  peering  into  all  the  sly  fores 
nooks  and  corners,  revealing  every  little  sleepy  faced  flower 
and  weed  that,  heavy  with  their  night's  debauch,  had  much 
ado  to  stand  erect  upon  their  slender  stalks  ;  revealed  too,  to 
his  practiced  eye  that  he  was  close  to  one  of  the  many  wood 
paths  that,  if  one  had  the  skill  to  follow  its  faint  markings, 
led  straight  to  the  river  some  seven  or  eight  miles  beyond. 

I  have  called  it  a  "path"  for  lack  of  a  better  name,  but 
to  an  uninitiated  eye  there  would  not  have  been  the  faintest 
sign  of  trail  or  track  through  that  wide  stretch  of  unpro- 
faned  woodland.  Man  had  simply  followed  his  natural  in- 
stincts, just  as  the  squirrels  and  rabbits  were  wont  to  do, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  intricate  and  roundabout  as  it 
sometimes  seemed,  it  led  straight,  as  line  and  compass 
could  have  made  it  to  the  desired  point. 

Here  would  be  some  faint  indication  that  the  foot  of  man 
had  trodden  not  long  before,  as  seen  in  the  broken  weeds 
and  crushed  grasses,  or  maybe  in  an  intrusive  branch 
broken,  but  not  yet  dead,  lying  not  beneath  but  beyond  the 
parent  tree  ;  or  a  great  fallen  log  mossy  with  age,  across 
whose  giant  waist  the  bark  had  been  worn  smooth  and  shin- 
ing as  by  the  passage  of  human  feet.  In  the  deeper  forest 
only  the  shadow  loving  ferns  and  a  few  pale,  timid  wild 
flowers  disputed  the  ground  with  the  luxuriant  mosses  and 
lichen,  even  the  grass  had  but  a  feeble  growth,  finding  it 
hard  to  get  its  head  above  the  drifting  pine  needles  that  tilled 
up  the  earthy  hollows  and  did  their  best  to  soften  the  harsh 
outlines  of  the  outcropping  boulders  that  thrust  their  gaunt 
shoulders  through  the  scanty  soil  on  every  hand. 

Then  all  at  once,  square  across  the  track,  looms  one  of 
these  same  boulders,  a  giant  among  its  kind, — high, 
hard,  and  uncompromising, — with  mighty  feet  barring 
the    way,  like    a  granitic   Leonidas,    with   its     ''thus    far 


70       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

shaft    thou    go    and    no    farther,"  written    in  mossy    hier- 
oglyphics all  over  its  rugged  sides,  from  base  to  summit. 

To  make  a  circuit  about  this  intruder,  as  a  tyro  in  wood- 
craft would  naturally  do,  would  result  in  hopeless  bewilder- 
ment, throwing  one  completely  off  the  track  and  making  it 
next  to  impossible  for  him  to  regain  it.  But  General  "Wads- 
worth  was  too  well  used  to  the  intricacies  of  a  Maine  forest 
to  make  this  mistake,  and  resolutely  scaled  boulder  and 
fallen  tree,  although  in  the  latter  case  the  path  sometimes 
led  under  rather  than  over  the  obstacle,  in  which  strait 
he  was  forced  to  crawl  over  beds  of  peaty  moss,  the  accu- 
mulation of  centuries, with  here  and  there  a  network  of  tan- 
gled, half  buried  tree  roots,  whose  top  had  long  since  gone 
the  way  of  all  woods,  and  which  now  formed  a  natural  trap 
for  some  hidden  subterraneum  stream,  whose  voice  reached 
the  listener's  ear  in  a  low,  discontented  murmur,  as  it  hur- 
ried along  in  its  darksome  channel  to  join  the  sun  lighted 
river  below. 

It  was  slow  travelling  for  a  tired  and  hungry  man,  and 
the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  at  last,  through  the 
thinning  tree  trunks,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dancing 
blue  waters  of  the  Penobscot,  and  heard  its  idle  splash  upon 
the  sandy  shore,  with  a  wild  upleap  of  the  heart  as  if  it 
had  been  the  voice  dearest  to  him  of  all  the  world. 

Not  a  trace  of  the  last  night's  storm  remained  to  mar  the 
sweet  serenity  of  the  scene.  Even  the  bleached  and  fallen 
log  upon  which  he  was  glad  to  rest  his  tired  limbs,  seemed 
to  have  absorbed  so  much  of  the  June  sunshine  into  its 
wrinkled  fibres  that  its  drenching  of  a  few  hours  before  had 
left  no  trace  whatever  upon  its  smooth  surface,  both  to 
touch  and  sight  it  was  as  dry  as  tinder.  So  peaceful  and 
homelike  was  the  scene,  so  perfectly  natural  in  all  its  feat- 
ures, that  even  the  sight   of  his    friend's    advancing  figure, 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTOX.  71 

as,  rounding  a  turn  of  the  shore  just  beyond,  he  came  for- 
ward with  a  joyful  exclamation  to  meet  him,  scarcely,  for 
the  moment,  surprised  him, — it  was  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world,  that  he,  of  all  men,  should  form  a  part  of  the 
familiar  .picture,  nor  did  the  other's  characteristic  salutation 
help  in  the  least  to  dispel  the  pleasant  illusion  : 

"The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  General.  The  world  don't 
look  much  as  it  did  on  that  snowy  March  night  when  you 
and  I  saw  it  last." 

The  General  laughed  appreciatively.  He  could  afford  to 
laugh  under  the  cheery  influence  of  all  these  familiar  sights 
and  sounds,  even  although  he  knew  that,  by  this  time,  the 
pursuers  must  be  upon  their  track,  and  that,  at  any  moment 
the  dip  of  an  enemy's  oar  might  herald  a  return  to  impris- 
onment and  probable  death. 

He  motioned  his  friend  to  a  seat  beside  him,  and  with  a 
return  to  the  gravity  befitting  their  desperate  condition,  held, 
what  he  half  playfully  called  a  ''council  of  war." 

'•We  might  as  well  look  the  situation  squarely  in  the  face 
Major,  and  lay  our  plans  for  the  campaign  before  us, — we're 
out  of  the  fort,  thank  God,  but  not  yet  out  of  danger  by 
any  means." 

His  companion  nodded  respectfully,  then  drawing  from 
one  of  his  capacious  pockets  a  loaf  of  newly  baked  bread, 
he  coolly  broke  it  in  two  and  proffered  half  to  his  friend 
with  the  sensible  comment : 

"It's  hard  thinking  on  an  empty  stomach.  And  after 
we've  had  our  breakfast  our  wits  will  be  sharper,  maybe. 
Where  did  I  get  it?"— in  reply  to  his  friend's  surprised  look, 
"Why,  I  happened,  in  trying  to  find  the  wood  road,  to  run 
across  the  'Dutch  oven'  as  the  folks  hereabouts  call  it, 
where  the  soldiers  bake  their  bread,  and  as  Billy  Button 
was  just  taking  out  a  lot  of  freshly  baked  loaves,  I  gave 


72       RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

him  my  last  dollar  for  three  of  them, — all  that  I  could  find 
room  for  in  my  pockets." 

"How  could  you  be  so  reckless,  so  foolhardy?" — and  the 
General  spoke  with  a  sharpness  that  he  rarely  used  toward 
his  favorite  officer. 

"Didn't  you  realize,  sir,  that,  by  showing  yourself  to 
this  fellow  you  would  be  sure  to  hasten  the  discovery  of  our 
escape  by  several  hours,  at  least?  I  am  astonished  at  your 
lack  of  caution,  and  I  may  add,  of  co7nmon  sense.'''' 

The  Major  touched  his  hat  respectfully,  yet  with  a  droll 
smile  curling  his  lips,  as  he  realized  how  quickly  liberty 
had  restored  the  old  order  of  military  superior  and  subordi- 
nate, that,  in  their  prison  life,  had  been  laid  aside,  and  as 
it  seemed,  forgotten  entirely. 

"The  discovery  was  accidental,  sir,"  he  explained,  shift- 
ing his  position  a  little  that  he  might  keep  a  sharper  lookout 
down  the  river.  tlHe  was  alone  at  his  work,  and  I  came 
within  the  full  glare  of  his  fire  before  I  knew  where  I  was, 
for  in  the  darkness  I  was  completely  turned  round  and 
couldn't  tell  north  from  south.  He  spoke  to  me,  and  I  soon 
found  that  all  his  sympathies  were  with  us,  and  that  he  has 
mistrusted  for  some  time  what  we  were  about,  by  finding  in 
the  sweepings  of  our  room  the  wood  dust  that  the  gimlet 
made  in  boring  through  the  board.  He  would  gladly  have 
given  me  the  bread,  but  I  insisted  upon  paying  him,  and  he 
not  only  put  me  upon  the  right  track,  but  promised  to  delay 
our  breakfast,  by  some  pretence,  and  so  put  off  the  duty  of 
reporting  our  escape  as  long  as  possible." 

The  General's  brow  cleared,  but  the  anxiety  that,  under 
the  cheering  influences  of  the  day,  had  been  almost  forgot- 
ten, again  resumed  its  natural  sway,  and  upon  Burton  re- 
porting the  discovery  of  an  old  canoe  that  he  had  found 
hidden  in  some  bushes  along  shore,  he  hastened  to  drag  it 


PRETTY  PATTY  PABTON.  73 

from  its  concealment,  and   make  a  careful  investigation   of 
its  capabilities. 

"The  sooner  we  are  on  the  other  side  the  better,"  he 
urged,  as,  with  the  assistance  of  his  companion,  he  launched 
the  frail  craft  upon  the  shining  bosom  of  the  river.  "We 
shall  have  a  hard  tramp  through  the  woods  before  we  can 
reach  the  nearest  settlement,  but  we  shall  be  safe  so  far  as 
the  redcoats  are  concerned.  If  they  don't  catch  us  on  this 
side,  they  won't  chase  us  into  the  woods  on  the  other,  we 
may  be  sure." 

That  this  surmise  was  correct  was  proved  a  half  hour 
later  when,  hidden  behind  a  screen  of  bushes  upon  the  op- 
posite shore,  they  watched  a  boatload  of  their  pursuers,  as 
they  rowed  up  the  river,  and  after  critically  examining  the 
shore  upon  either  hand,  landed  upon  the  very  spot  where 
their  own  breakfast  had  been  eaten,  and  where,  after  the 
clumsy  fashion  of  their  kind,  the  soldiers  proceeded  to  peer 
into  every  hole  big  enough  to  shelter  a  squirrel, — all  the  time 
making  noise  enough  to  have  awakened  the  seven  sleepers, 
— thrusting  their  bayonets  into  every  yard  long  hollow  log, 
and  thicket  of  bare  stemmed  alders,  with  a  vague  idea, 
evidently,  that  this  was  the  proper  way  to  go  man  hunting 
in  the  Maine  woods.  In  spite  of  their  own  perilous  situa- 
tion, the  two  watchers  upon  the  farther  shore  could  not  for- 
bear a  hearty  laugh  at  their  foes'  utter  helplessness  : 

"We  should  be  safe  even  there,  two  rods  from  the  shore," 
declared  the  General,  adding  with  grim  satisfaction  : 

"The  stupid  gawks!  There  are  bread  crumbs  enough 
scattered  about  that  log  that  Lieutenant  Raynes  is  roosting 
upon  to  have  told  our  whole  story  to  a  real  woodsman.  He 
would  have  known  by  the  marks  of  our  feet  in  the  sand 
that  two  men  ate  their  breakfast  there,  while  by  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  crumbs  he  would  have  reckoned  that  not  more 
6 


74       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

than  an  hour  had  gone  by,  and  that  would  have  given  them 
ample  time  to  cross  the  river,  which  common  sense  would 
have  told  him  that  they  would  naturally  have  hastened  to 
do  under  the  circumstances.  Then,  acting  on  this  supposi- 
tion, he  would  have  followed  the  trail  to  the  shore,  seen 
where  the  canoe  had  been  dragged  down  and  launched,  and 
by  that  sign  would  have  followed  his  prey  as  surely  as  if 
they  had  stood  upon  the  shore  and  beckoned  to  him." 

"They  probably  think  that  we  had  no  means  of  crossing 
the  river,"  responded  Burton.  Yet  he  watched  with  no  little 
anxiety  the  re-embarking  of  the  boat's  crew,  and  the  evi- 
dent uncertainty  of  their  movements,  as,  still  skirting  the 
shore,  they  rowed  slowly  past  the  point  from  which  they 
had  themselves  set  out,  only  a  little  earlier,  and  at  last,  as 
if  reluctant  to  abandon  the  search,  crossed  over,  and  with- 
out taking  the  trouble  to  land,  took  a  careless  survey  of  the 
thickly  wooded  shore,  while  passing  so  close  to  the  narrow 
strip  of  beach  that  the  words  of  the  Lieutenant,  as  he  gave 
his  orders  to  his  men,  were  distinctly  audible  to  those  in 
hiding  : 

"Shoot  them  down  if  they  show  the  least  resistance  or 
attempt  to  escape,"  were  the  words  that,  with  startling  dis- 
tinctness reached  their  ears,  and  there  was  so  much  of  con- 
centrated spite  in  the  tones  that  the  two  silently  exchanged 
glances  of  amusement  not  unmixed  with  satisfaction. 

"The  Lieutenant  hasn't  forgotten  how  cleverly  you 
turned  the  tables  on  him  in  that  toast  on  the  Prince  of 
Wales,",  whispered  the  General,  suppressing  the  laugh  that 
rose  to  his  lips  at  the  recollection  of  that  scene. 

His  companion  smiled,  but  there  was  little  merriment  in 
his  smile.  Even  an  unfriendly  comment,  if  overheard  by 
its  object,  carries  a  sting  with  it  that  no  face  to  face  abuse, 
be  it  ever  so  violent  or  unjust,  ever  has  the  power  to  inflict, 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  75 

and  to  hear  another  deliberately  planning  your  death,  un- 
conscious that  you  are  listening  to  his  every  word,  and 
weighing  the  chances  of  his  being  able  to  carry  out  his 
murderous  design,  must  necessarily  give  one  a  very  queer 
sensation,  to  say  the  least.  Thus  it  is  not  surprising  that 
neither  of  the  fugitives  made  any  farther  comment  until  the 
boat  was  well  upon  its  return  way  down  the  river,  and  even 
then  the  General's  voice  was  a  trifle  husky  as,  rising  from 
the  ground,  and  stretching  his  cramped  limbs  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction,  he  remarked,  with  a  glance  at  the  receding 
boat : 

"Thank  God  we've  escaped  those  bloody  villains  this 
time!  And  now  for  home,  where,  maybe,  they'll  see  us 
sooner  than  they  or  we  have  dared  to  hope." 

But  what  a  weary  four  days'  tramp  was  theirs,  through  an 
unbroken  forest  with  only  the  sky  above  them  as  they  lay 
down  to  sleep,  their  feet  to  the  fire  after  the  Indian  fashion, 
with, — after  their  scanty  supply  of  bread  failed  them, — only 
a  few  edible  roots  and  early  berries,  or,  when  having  se- 
cured a  pocketful  of  last  year's  acorns,  the  Major  made 
what  he  called  "acorn  Johnny  cake,"  by  bruising  the  dry 
nuts  between  two  stones  and  moistening  the  paste  with 
enough  water  so  that  it  could  be  patted  into  a  thin  cake 
and  baked  before  the  fire  upon  a  convenient  slab  of  slate- 
stone. 

They  were  terribly  ragged,  hungry  and  worn,  when  at 
last  the  smoke  of  a  friendly  clearing,  rising  above  the  tops 
of  the  intervening  trees,  with  the  thousand  and  one  familiar 
sounds  that  tell  of  the  near  habitation  of  man,  saluted  their 
eager  senses, although  there  was  too  much  of  heartfelt  thank- 
fulness for  their  marvelous  escape  and  near  reunion  with 
dear  ones  to  leave  any  room  for  either  complaint  or  boastful 
retrospection. 


ib       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

But  the  story  of  their  gallant  break  for  liberty,  and  the 
manly  courage  with  which  they  endured  the  hardships  and 
perils  of  that  long,  weary  tramp  through  an  unbroken  wil- 
derness, is  it  not  told  at  full  length  in  the  old  school  his- 
tories familiar  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  earlier  part  of 
the  century?  While  now  and  then  a  white  haired  man  or 
woman,  looking  backward  from  their  nineties,  will  tell  with 
gleeful  triumph  the  story,  as  they  heard  it  in  their  childish 
days,  of  the  escape  of  the  brave  patriots  from  the  old  fort 
at  Bagaduce  (now  Castine),  and  the  staunch  fidelity  of  the 
loyal  farmer  folk  who  gladly  sheltered  and  aided  them  to 
reach  their  homes  in  safety. 

But  beyond  this  the  old  historians  are  silent,  although  in 
the  annals  of  Warren  and  Thomaston  we  find  the  name  of 
Burton  prominent  in  all  works  of  public  and  private  en- 
terprise, a  name  still  honored  and  proudly  worn  by  some 
of  the  best  people  in  that  vicinity  even  down  to  the  present 
day. 

The  story  of  the  return  of  the  hoarded  keepsake  that  the 
gallant  Major  had  worn  next  his  heart  in  many  a  bloody 
battle  for  freedom,  to  its  original  owner,  Madam  Courtland's 
pretty  neice. 

'•No  scald  in  song  has  told, 
No  saga  taught  thee." 

We  only  know  that  one  of  the  best  remembered  and  most 
honored  names  among  the  pioneer  matrons  of  that  ancient 
town  where  the  brave  Knox  lived  out  the  remnant  of  his 
useful,  patriotic  life,  was  that  of  Mistress  Patty  Burton, 
whose  active  goodness  and  benevolence  made  her  the  friend 
and  helper,  as  well  as  the  pride,  not  only  of  her  own,  but  of 
all  succeeding  generations. 

And  to-day,  when  some  fair  descendent  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary dame  proudly  displays  the  still  cherished  breast- 
knot, — faded  and    limp  with  age, — and  tells  with  glowing 


PRETTY  PATTY  PARTON.  77 

cheeks  the  story  of  its  noble  mission,  she  always  concludes 
with  the  proud  and  grateful : 

"It  was  her  fortune  that  gave  old  grandsire  Burton  his 
first  start  in  the  world  and  laid  the  foundation  of  one  of  the 
finest  estates  in  the  county.  She  was  his  helpmeet  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  and  he  always  declared  that  he  owed 
not  only  his  life,  but  the  dearest  blessings  of  that  life,  to 
the  shrewdness,  the  courage  and  the  love  of  his  noble  wife." 


COLLEQE  (?/J?L 


X 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  81 


CHAPTER     I. 

bessie's  wedding  day. 

It  was  half-past  six  on  a  sharp  December  morning,  and 
although  the  sun  was  up,  his  face  was  so  shrouded  and 
draped  with  the  thickly  falling  snow  flakes  that  it  required 
considerable  faith  to  believe  that  the  pale,  grey  half-twilight 
which  only  served  to  make  visible  the  grotesque  transforma- 
tions that  a  night's  steady  downfall  had  made  in  all  the 
homely,  familiar  forms  about  the  old  farm-house,  was  really 
the  reflection  of  his  cheery  smile. 

Pretty  Bessie  Lindsey,  as  she  scraped  away  a  little  of  the 
thick  frost  from  her  bedroom  window  to  get  a  peep  at  the 
world  outside,  wrinkled  her  smooth  forehead  into  an  anx- 
ious frown,  and  as  she  turned  with  a  shiver  to  resume  her 
dressing,  murmured  softly  to  her  only  confidant, — herself: 

"The  drifts  are  piled  over  the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  it's 
snowing  still.  I  don't  see  how  John  can  possibly  drive  all 
the  way  from  Parkman  to-day, — through  all  these  drifts. 
And  even  Aunt  Crossman  would  find  it  hard,  I'm  thinking, 
to  carry  out  all  her  plans  for  the  wedding,  with  the  bride- 
groom missing." 

She  blushed  and  laughed  a  little,  all  to  herself,  as  she  put 
the  finishing  touches  to  her  neat  toilet,  and  then  ran  lightly 
down  stairs  into  the  wide,  cheery  kitchen,  where  Joanna 
was  frying  griddle  cakes  for  breakfast. 

"Well,"  remarked  that  very  independent  damsel,  with  a 
shade  more  of  crispness  in  her  tones  than  usual,  "I  shou'd 
say  you  was   beginnin'  to   take  it  easy  a'ready.     Twenty- 


82       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

five  minutes  of  seven  !  and  1  ain't  had  a  minute  for  the  cof- 
fee, and  the  table  ain't  set  either.  I  thought,"  with  a  kind 
of  grim  pleasantry,  "that  you'd  a'  been  on  hand  in  good 
season  on  yer  weddin'  day." 

Bessie  smiled  good  naturedly  and  set  herself  to  work  to 
supply  the  omissions  that  Joanna  had  so  ungraciously 
pointed  out. 

She  was  used  to  the  girl's  ways,  for  they  had  been  neigh- 
bors all  their  lives,  and  had  studied  and  played  together  as 
children.  It  was  not  the  poor  girl's  fault  that  she  had  a 
shiftless,  unambitious  father,  and  was  obliged  to  earn  her 
own  living  by  assisting  in  the  households  of  her  more  fortu- 
nate neighbors.  And  Bessie,  like  the  reasonable,  warm- 
hearted girl  that  she  was,  always  made  special  allowance 
for  faults  of  temper  and  manner  that  were,  after  all,  but 
skin  deep,  covering  a  really  kind  heart  beneath. 

'•The  roads  must  be  terribly  drifted,"  she  said,  as  she 
poured  a  little  of  the  clear,  fragrant  coffee  into  a  cup,  to 
test  its  strength  and  clearness,  "we  haven't  had  a  snow 
storm  like  this  for  years." 

'•That's  a  fact,"  assented  Joanna,  with  a  glance  at  the 
fast  falling  snow  without,  that  was  already  almost  on  a  level 
with  the  kitchen  windows. 

"Us  and  the  deacon'll  have  a  tug  to  get  to  the  village 
ourselves,  and  how  John  "Wyman'll  drive  all  the  way  from 
Parkman  here,  is  what  sticks  me.  What  do  you  s'pose," — 
a  gleam  of  fun  lighting  up  the  stolid  face,  "Mis'  Cross- 
man'll  do  'f  anything  happens  so't  he  can't  get  here  in  time 
for  the  weddin'?  I  honestly  b'lieve  she'd  make  you  stand 
up  with  the  tongs  before  she'd  let  the  tiling  slump  through 
after  all  her  plannin'." 

Both  girls  laughed,  although  Bessie  reddened  a  little. 
Aunt  Grossman,  though  arbitrary  in  her  way,   had  always 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL. 


83 


been  kind  to  her  and  she  was  fond  of  her    after  a    fashion. 
'-John  will  come  if  it  is  possible,"  and  there  was  a  world 
of  tender  trust  in   the  girl's  soft  tones.      "But   if  he   can't 
come  the  wedding  will  have  to  be  deferred,  of  course." 

Joanna  glanced  sharply  at  the  sweet,  unruffled  face. 
"You  take  it  mighty  easy  !"  she  muttered  under  her  breath. 
"Now  if  /was  goin'  to  be  married,  and  my  intended  was 
twenty  odd  miles  away,  and  it  was  snowin'  great  guns, 
with  no  signs  o'  stoppin',  I  know  I  should  be  in  a  terrible 
twitter, — I  really  b'lieve  I  should  fly" 

Bessie  made  no  reply,  for  at  this  moment  her  father  en- 
tered, a  brimming  milk  pail  in  either  hand  and  his  cap 
and  coat  perfectly  white  with   snow. 

"Well,  I  declare,"  puffing  and  shaking  himself  like  a 
big  Newfoundland  dog  just  out  of  a  snow  drift,  "if  this 
don't  beat  all  creation  !  We  ain't  had  such  a  snow  storm  as 
this  for  years  ;  not  since—"  he  stopped  suddenly,  his  cheer- 
ful face  saddened,  and  his  tones  grew  tremulous  with  un- 
shed tears,  as  he  repeated  more  softly,  "not  since  your 
mother  died,  five  years  come  next  March." 

Silently  he  hung  his  cap  and  coat  upon  the  accustomed 
nail  and  drew  a  chair  to  the  stove,  where,  spreading  his 
hands  to  catch  the  genial  warmth,  he  bent  his  grey  head  in 
silent,  saddened  thought. 

There  was  something  in  his  attitude,— the  bowed  shoul- 
ders, the  drooping  head,  and  the  listless,  depressed  air.  that 
smote  upon  Bessie's  loving  heart  like  a  reproach,  and  com- 
ing softly  behind  him  she  took  his  face  tenderly  between 
her  warm,  soft  palms,  and  a  kiss  and  tear  fell  at  the  same 
instant  upon  his  care-lined  forehead. 

••I'm  afraid  it's  wrong  for  me  to  leave  you,  father,"  she 
whispered  gently,  "you'll  be  so  lonesome  without  me.  I 
told  John  that  I  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  you  all 


84       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

alone,  and  he  said,"  her  voice  rising  hopefully,  "that  we 
must  coax  you  to  sell  out  and  come  out  to  Nevada  with  us. 
Farming  out  there  is  a  very  different  thing  from  this  toiling, 
year  after  year,  on  a  stony  soil  that  barely  yields  one  a  liv- 
ing.    You'll  think  of  it,  won't  you?" 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  as  he  returned  his  daughter's 
kiss  there  was  an  unwonted  moisture  in  his  eyes,  although 
he  forced  himself  to  say  cheerfully  : 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  too  old  to  bear  transplanting.  I've  lived 
here  in  old  Maine,  boy  and  man,  for  nigh  on  ter  sixty-five 
years  and  I  couldn't  be  contented  nowheres  else.  It's  home, 
and  if  I  ain't  grown  rich  farmin',  I've  made  a  comfortable 
livin'  and  am  well  provided  for  in  my  old  age.  That  satis- 
fies me,  and  I  don't  hanker  after  the  riches  that  might  prove 
a  snare  to  me  if  I  had  'em." 

Then  noting  his  daughter's  disappointed  face,  he  added 
brightly  : 

"Nevada  ain't  so  far  off  as  'twas  a  few  years  ago.  The 
railroads  have  brought  the  East  and  West  so  near  together 
that  a  journey  out  there  don't  seem  no  great  of  a  jant,  now, 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if,  in  a  year  or  so,  you'd  see  me  out 
there.  I  always  thought  I'd  like  to  see  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  with  you  there  I  don't  imagine  it'll  be  long 
before  I'll  find  my  way  there,  too." 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  this  hopeful  prophecy,  the  breakfast 
was  a  silent,  almost  sad  meal.  Neither  parent  nor  child 
could  forget  that  the  hour  of  parting  was  near  at  hand,  and 
the  girl  who  had  been  her  widowed  father's  pride  and  sol- 
ace,— his  housekeeper,  companion  and  comforter, — was 
now  about  to  go  out  from  her  childhood's  home  to  brighten 
the  fires  upon  another's  hearthstone  and  gladden  with  her 
tender,  womanly  ministries,  the  heart  and  home  of  another. 

Joanna  too,  while  untouched  by  any  tender  sentiment  at 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  8d 

parting  with  her  old  playmate,  was  in  one  of  her  "queer 
moods,"  as  Bessie  charitably  called  them, — when  she  seemed 
to  take  a  malignant  pleasure  in  saying  spiteful  things  under 
the  guise  of  pleasantries. 

She  it  was  who  broke  the  sad  silence  with  a  forced  laugh 
and  the  jesting  comment  : 

"If  either  of  you  wanted  to  back  out  now,  this  storm 
would  be  a  first  rate  excuse  for  puttin*  off  the  weddin'  for 
good." 

Bessie  flushed  indignantly. 

"I  don't  think,"  she  said,  trying  to  speak  indifferently, 
1  'that  we  should  need  any  excuse  in  such  a  case." 

Joanna  cackled,  in  evident  enjoyment  of  her  young  mis- 
tress' annoyance : 

"Oh,  of  course  not !  of  course  not !  I  was  only  thinking 
of  something  I  heard  old  Mis'  Wyman  say,  when  the  story 
first  got  round  that  you  and  John  was  engaged  :  Says  she, 
in  that  sharp  way  of  hers,  John  Wyman's  a  fool,  if  he  is 
my  child,  to  take  up  with  a  girl  that's  been  to  college  and 
got  her  head  stuffed  with  all  the  ologies  under  the  sun  in- 
stead of  stayin'  at  home  and  tendin'  to  her  business  as  a  de- 
cent girl  should.  What'll  she  be  fit  for  out  in  that  new 
country  where  folks  have  to  rough  it,  and  there  ain't  a 
pianner — as  John  says  himself, — within  a  hundred  miles  ? 
Pretty  helpmate  she'll  be  !  If  he'd  only  had  the  sense  to  take 
to  some  real  smart,  capable  girl  like — ahem  ! — "and  Joanna 
simpered  in  pretended  embarrassment.  "Well,  'taint  worth 
while  ter  call  names,  but  she  really  seemed  to  think  that 
one  of  the  girls  round  here  that  knew  how  and  was  used 
to  hard  work,  would  make  a  better  wife  for  him  than  one 
that  had  ever  so  much  book  learnin'." 

It  was  the  deacon's  turn  now  to  show  temper.  Bessie- 
was  the  apple   of  his  eye,  and   sharp-tongued  Mrs.  Wyman,. 


86       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

if  she  was  John's  mother,  had  never  been  a  favorite  with 
him. 

••Mis'  Wyman's  a  woman  that'd  be  a  good  deal  better  or! 
if  she  knew  when  to  hold  her  tongue.  It  ain't  the  first  time 
that  I've  heard  of  her  flingin'  out  about  my  sendin'  Bessie 
to  "Wellesley  and  spoilin'  her  for  a  poor  man's  wife.  But 
I  guess,  John,"  with  a  significant  glance  at  his  daughter's 
grieved  and  mortified  face,  "don't  think  that  a  woman's 
spoiled  for  a  wife  and  housekeeper  because  she's  got  some 
brains  in  her  head  and  can  talk  about  something  be-ides 
her  neighbor's  business." 

Joanna  took  the  hint  and  subsided  imo  a  sulky  silence, 
while  Bessie  tried  hard  to  throw  off  the  uncomfortable  feel- 
ing that  the  girl's  ill-natured  gossip  had  caused  her. 

It  was  no  secret  to  her,  the  matron's  disapproval  of  her 
son's  marriage  with  a  graduate  of  Wellesley,  but  she  had 
cheered  herself  with  the  thought  that  time  would  right  her 
in  the  eyes  of  John's  mother,  when  she  should  see  what  a 
faithful  wife  and  competent  housekeeper  she  would  prove 
herself,  with  the  aid  of— not  in  spite  of—  her  college  ed- 
ucation. 

John  had  said, — for  the  subject  had  been  freely  discussed 
between  them, — 

"It  is  the  educated,  refined  woman,  who  is  brave  and 
loving  enough  to  face  the  hardships  and  inconveniences  of  a 
pioneer  life,  who  will  mould  and  shape  the  social  and  mor- 
al life  of  the  new  community.  "While  their  husbands  and 
fathers  are  the  home  builders  and  grain  raisers  of  the  new 
state,  it  is  for  the  wives  and  daughters  to  plant  and  train 
the  roses  of  culture  and  refinement  that  never  spring  spon- 
taneously from  a  new  soil." 

And  yet, — 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  87 

She  remembered  with  a  half  amused,  half  hurt  feeling, 
the  comical  picture  that  her  lover  had  more  than  once 
painted  for  her,  of  the  rudeness  of  the  settlers  themselves, 
and  the  bare  commonplaceness  of  their  lives,  and  she 
thought  that,  perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  begun  to  question 
the  wisdom  of  his  choice. 

Not  that,  for  an  instant,  she  doubted  or  could  doubt  his 
love,  but  did  he  really  feel  as  confident  as  at  the  first,  that 
she  would  be  a  help  rather  than  a  hindrance  to  him  in  his 
Western  home? 

These  were  the  thoughts  and  speculations  that  kept  her 
silent  as  she  went  about  her  usual  household  pluties,  seldom 
replying  to  Joanna's  chatter  that  fell  upon  her  unheeding 
ears,  mingled  with  the  clatter  of  the  dishes,  as  that  energetic 
damsel  disposed  of  them  with  unusual  alacrity,  in  her  haste 
to  get  ready  for  the  ride  to  the  village,  which  the  deacon  had 
decided  must  be  undertaken  as  soon  after  breakfast  as  possi- 
ble. 

"It  don't  seem  to  let  up  any,"  he  had  said  with  a  shrewd 
look  at  the  unrelenting  sky,  "and  the  sooner  we  start  the 
better.  Besides,  your  Aunt  Crossman  will  most  likely 
want  yours  and  Joanna's  help  in  getting  ready  for  the  even- 
ing." 

And  Bessie  had  assented  without  a  protest,  although  she 
had  secretly  planned  a  number  of  little  last  services  for  her 
father's  comfort  and  cheer  when  she  should  be  far  away, — 
silent  reminders  to  him  of  the  love  that  neither  distance  nor 
newer  ties  would  have  power  to  uproot  in  her  loving,  loyal 
heart. 

But  before  they  were  half  way  to  the  village  she  had  be- 
come convinced  that  her  father's  idea  of  the  necessity  of  an 
early  start  was  by  far  the  wisest  and  best  under  the  circum- 
stances. 


88       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

The  snow  was  still  falling  steadily,  and  soon  the  drifts 
grew  so  frequent  and  deep  that  it  was  almost  impossible  for 
old  Jack,  strong  as  he  was,  to  stumble  through  them,  even 
with  the  help  of  his  master,  who  was  more  than  once 
forced  to  alight  and  lift  the  sleigh  over  the  great  ridges  of 
closely  packed  snow. 

Aunt  Grossman's  "hired  man"  Jotham  was  hard  at  work 
shovelling  paths, — almost  as  discouraging  a  task  as  that  of 
the  Danaides,  Bessie  thought,  with  rather  an  anxious  smile, 
as  she  noticed  how  fast  they  filled  up  again  behind  him. 

He  stopped,  and  leaned  easily  upon  the  handle  of  his 
snow  shovel,  as  he  replied  with  great  deliberateness  to  the 
deacon's  salutation  : 

"Wa'al,  yes,  considerable  of  a  storm,  I  shou'd  say.  You 
can  drive  right  in  here," — stepping  aside  into  the  yet  un- 
broken drift, — "unless" — 

The  deacon  had  lifted  the  reins  to  give  Jack  a  gentle  re- 
minder that  he  was  to  move  on,  but  he  paused  at  the  last 
word  and  looked  enquiringly  at  the  speaker — '''-unless  you 
mean  ter  drive  right  on.  You  see  it'll  be  hard  turnin'  when 
you're  once  in,  and  Mrs.  Crossman,  she  said  you'd  better 
come  right  out  ter  Nathan's  before  it  got  so  bad  you 
couldn't  come." 

"Out  to  Nathan's?"  repeated  the  deacon  in  utter  bewil- 
derment, "what  are  we  to  go  out  to  Nathan's  for  I  should 
like  to  know  ?" 

Jotham  took  off  his  old  fur  cap  and  carefully  shook  the 
snow  from  it ;  then  as  carefully  replacing  it  upon  his  shock 
head,  he  gave  his  mittened  hands  a  slap  and  grasped  his 
shovel  with  an  air  that  was  supposed  to  mean  business. 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  but  you'd  heard  a'ready  about  old 
grand marm  Mitchel's  havin'  a  shock." 

A  cry  of  dismay  burst  from  Bessie's  lips  : 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  89 

••A  shock!  Grandma  Mitchell  Why,  we  expected  to 
have  found  her  here.  Aunt  Grossman  promised  that  she 
should  certainly  be  here  to-night." 

Jotham  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively  : 

"Well,  that  was  the  plan,  I  b'lieve.  But  it  was  so  cold 
yesterday  that  Mis'  Crossmau  didn't  want  ter  take  the  colt 
out,  and  the  first  thing  this  mornin'  Nathan's  boy  brought 
the  news  that  she'd  had  a  shock,  and  they  wanted.  Mis' 
Grossman  ter  come  right  off,  f '  r  'twas  doubtful  if  she'd 
stand  it  through  the  day.  So  you  sees  she  couldn't  do  no 
less  than  ter  go  with  'iin,  and  she  left  wordf'r  you  to  come 
too.  They  said  she  had  her  senses,  and  could  speak,  though 
she  couldn't  move  hand  nor  foot." 

The  Deacon  looked  anxiously  out  into  the  -whirl  dance  of 
the  driving  storm,"  and  the  drifts  growing  higher  and  higher 
every  minute. 

•'I  d'clare  I  don't  know  as  we  can  get  there  !"  he  mut- 
tered regretfully,  but  Bessie's  tremulous  tones  sounded  close 
to  his  shoulder  : 

'•Oh,  don't  say  that,  father  !  We  must  get  there  somehow, 
if  we  walk  all  the  way.  Dear  old  grandmother  !  it  would 
break  my  heart  cot  to  see  her  again,  and  I  know  she'd 
grieve  even  in  death  for  a  last  look  at  my  face.  Don't  say 
'no'  father, — we  must  go,  and  it's  only  a  little  over  two 
miles,  and  a  pretty  good  road  too." 

A  pretty  good  road  !  The  Deacon  glanced  ruefully,  yet 
with  a  comical  uplifting  of  his  shaggy  eyebrows  along  the 
fast  increasing  drifts  that  had  already  nearly  obliterated  all 
traces  of  the  broad  country  highway.  It  was  a  long  two 
miles  out  to  Nathan's  even  in  the  summer  time,  and  now, — 
why  one  could  scarcely  see  the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  it 
was  still  snowing. 

But  Bessie  was  the  poor  old  lady's  idol,  and  if  she  was 

7 


90       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

really  in  a  dying  state  it  would  be  cruel  to  keep  the  girl 
from  her  bedside,  let  the  risk  be  what  it  would.  So  rea- 
soned the  good  man,  and  unheeding  Joanna's  loud  protest 
against  a  continuance  of  the  drive,  he  said  cheerfully  : 

"Well,  Joanna, — you  may  get  out  here,  and  Bessie  and 
I  '11  try  the  road  to  Nathan's.  If  it's  too  bad  we  can  turn 
round  and  comeback  again." 

So  Joanna,  clumsily  assisted  by  Jotham,  tumbled  out  of 
the  sleigh,  next  the  house,  and  as  they  rode  away,  Bessie, 
looking  back,  saw  her  standing  upon  the  rear  piazza,  co- 
quettishly  laughing  and  chatting  with  her  rustic  admirer, 
who  was  vigorously  at  work  with  an  old  coru  broom  brush- 
ing the  snowy  flakes  from  her  cloak  and  hood. 

This  the  girl  saw  but  fortunately  could  not  hear  the  con- 
versation that  was  going  on  between  the  two  in  regard  to 
herself  and  her  affairs, 

"Ain't  it  most  a  wonder,"  drawled  Jolham,  who  was 
rather  prone  to  "wonder"  over  other  people's  affairs  gener- 
ally, "that  the  Deacon  was  willing  to  have  his  girl  married 
from  'er  Aunt  Grossman's?  I  shou'd  a  thought,  seein  she's 
all  he's  got,  that  he'd  a'  put  his  foot  down,  fair  an  square 
for  once,  and  had  the  weddin'  in  his  own  house." 

Joanna  gave  a  brisk  stamp  of  her  snow  laden  feet  that 
made  the  tin  milk  pails  that  had  been  hung  outside  to  air 
rattle  as  if  a  hurricane  had  looked  in  upon  them. 

"Humph !  Can't  you  see  through  a  grinstun,  Jotham 
Toothaker?  Mis'  Crossman's  house  is  the  biggest  and 
grandest  in  town,  and  Mis'  Crossman  herself, — without  a 
chick  nor  a  child  in  the  world,  will  naturally  leave  all  she's 
got  to  her  favorite  neice  when  she's  got  through  with  it. 
So,  when  she  up  an  says : 

"I'm  reckonin'  on  bavin'  Bessie  married  from  my  house, 
'twouldn't  a'  been  prudent  fur  the  Deacon  to   have  said  'er 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  91 

nay, —  (any  fool  might  a'  seen  through  that,  Ishou'd  think.)" 

Jotham  put  the  broom  back  into  its  place  with  a  long 
drawn  sigh  and  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  buxom  girl  who 
had  given  utterance  to  this  profound  bit  of  worldly  wisdom. 

'•You're  a  master  hand  to  see  into  things,  Joanna,"  he 
remarked  humbly,  "but,"  with  a  sudden  transition  from 
the  complimentary  to  the  complaining,  ''I  du  wish  Mis' 
Crossman  'd  feel  it  her  dooty  ter  raise  my  pay  a  little.  Here 
I've  worked  for  'er,  and  faithful  too,  nigh  on  ter  five  years, 
and  she's  kept  me  down  to  the  same  pay  that  we  bargained 
for  in  the  beginning. 

'Taint  fair.  And  here's  John  Wyman  coming  back 
from  out  AVest  with  his  pockets  full  o'  money, — why.  they 
say,"  lowering  his  voice  and  speaking  with  eager  haste. 
4 'that  where  he  is  they  don't  have  no  money  less'n  a  quar- 
ter. He  says  'imself  that  he  hadn't  seen  a  ten  cent  piece 
for  all  of  four  years  till  he  got  back  to  this  part  o'  the 
country." 

A  hot  flush  rose  to  the  girl's  cheek,  and  her  tones  were 
even  sharper  than  usual  as  she  said  significantly  : 

"I  s'pose  the  West  is  open  to  one  man  as  much  as  'tis  to 
another.  And  I  know  o7ie  thing, — if  /  was  a  man  I 
wouldn't  spend  all  my  days  diggin'  and  delvin'  for  any 
stingy  old  widder  woman,  for  half  pay, — doin'  a  man's 
work  f'r  a  boy's  pay.  The  world's  wide  and  I'd  see  what 
it  had  for  me  outside  o'  Mis'  Crossman's  chimney  corner." 

"P'raps  you  would, — 'fact,  I  haint  no  doubt  on't,"  meekly 
assented  Jotham,  but  with  an  inward  shudder  at  the  thought 
of  such  a  thing  as  "starting  out"  into  that  great  unknown, 
fearsome  world,  of  which  he  knew  so  little,  that  its  very 
mystery  inspired  him  with  a  secret  terror  that  made  the 
despised  "chimney  corner"  of  the  grasping  widow  seem  a 
refuse  and  fortress  if  nothing  more. 


92       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

And  yet,  like  many  another  who,  timid  and  un-enterpris- 
ing  himself, feels  a  mean, unreasoning  resentment  toward  those 
whose  courage  and  daring  have  brought  them  the  success 
that  he  craves,  yet  dares  not  venture  for,  Jotham,  while 
wearily  shaping  his  paths  in  the  solid  drifts,  beguiled  the 
time  with  alternate  pangs  of  self  pity,  and  low  muttered 
anathemas  against  "folks  that  thought  themselves  so  all- 
fired  smart  jest  because  they  happened  to  have  a  lucky 
streak." 

It  was,  no  doubt,  his  indulgence  in  these  foolish  medita- 
tions that  made  him  look  with  such  grim  disfavor  upon  the 
pair  that,  a  couple  of  hours  later,  drove  briskly  through  the 
now  completed  snow  tunnel  and  halted  before  the  back 
door  where  he  was  standing,  while  the  younger  called  out 
in  a  blithe,  hearty  voice  from  beneath  his  furry  wrappings  : 

"Hallo,  Joe  !  This  is  a  stunner — almost  equal  to  one  of 
our  Western  blizzards.  Well,"  putting  one  foot  out  of  the 
sleigh,  "did  Mrs.  Crossman  wonder  that  we  didn't  get  here 
last  night?  The  fact  is,  it  was  so  badly  drifted  that, — Ah, 
Joanna  !"  as  that  alert  damsel  suddenly  appeared  upon  the 
scene  her  face  wreathed  with  smiles  of  welcome  and  her 
tones  and  air  sweetly  hospitable  as  became  Mrs.  Crossman's 
representative. 

"Do  come  right  in, — you  and  Elder  Barnes,  (I  b'lieve 
'tis?)"  with  an  extra  bow  and  smile  for  the  supposed  par- 
son. "You  must  be  nigh  about  froze  after  yer  long  ride. 
Mis'  Crossman  ?  Why  she  got  word  this  morning  that  her 
mother,  old  Grandmarm  Mitchel, —  (you  remember  her, 
John  ?)  was  a'  layin'  at  death's  door,  and  she  started  right 
off,  only  stoppin'  long  enough  to  leave  word  that  I  was  ter 
see  ter  things  till  she  got  back.  So  you  might  as  well  come 
right  in  and  make  yerselves  comfortable  till   she  gets  back." 

The  door   swung  hospitably,  open  beneath  the  speaker's 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  93 

hand,  revealing  a  temptingly   warm,    cheery  room  within, 
but  John  still  hesitated. 

"I  don't  suppose,"  he  asked  with  a  bit  of  shy  conscious- 
ness in  his  tones,  "that  the  Deacon  and  Bessie  have  come 
yet?" 

"Oh,  law  !  yes  indeed  !"  cried  the  proxy,  as  gaily  as  if 
she  were  imparting  the  most  delightful  bit  of  information  in 
the  world,  "Come  and  ^07^,  all  of  two  or  three  hours  ago. 
When  they  heard  of  the  old  lady's  sickness  they  kep'  right 
on  out  there.  But  do  come  in,"  with  a  winning  sweetness 
that  made  poor  Jotham  grit  his  teeth  wrathfully,  '  'most 
likely  they'll  be  back  in  time  f 'r  the  weddin', — that  is,  if 
they  can^V  back." 

John  drew  back  his  foot  beneath  the  sleigh  robes  and 
lifted  the  reins  that  had  fallen  across  the  horse's  back. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  accept  Joanna's  invitation,"  he 
said  to  his  companion,  but  I  shall  follow  after  the  Deacon. 
The  road  is  growing  worse  every  minute  and  the  Deacon  is 
an  old  man, — too  old  to  brave  such  a  storm  as  this.  It  is 
my  place  to  look  out  for  him,  but  there  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  expose  yourself  to  the  cold  and  possible  peril." 

But  the  Elder,  whose  blood  was  young  and  warm,  shook 
his  head  decidedly. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  the  storm,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of 
mannish  contempt  at  the  idea  that  he,  northern  born  and 
bred,  could  be  afraid  of  what  he  had  been  familiar  with 
all  his  life, — 

"And  if  there  should  be  any  trouble,  two  are  better  than 
one." 

And  unheeding  Joanna's  indignant  remonstrances,  the 
two  young  men  rode  away  into  the  storm,  being  almost  out 
of  sight  before  the  slow  thinking  Jotham  aroused  himself  to 
say  regretfully  (  ?) , 


94       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Well,  now  !  I  wonder  if  John  knows  that  the  old  house 
is  shet  up  this  winter,  and  that  grandmarm  is  spending  the 
winter  with  Nathan's  folks  ?     If  he  don't  he'll  take  a  lone 

o 

ride  f 'r  nothin  and  find  the  house  empty  into  the  bargain." 

Joanna  smiled  grimly. 

"If  he  hadn't  a'been  in  sech  a  tarin'  hurry  I  shou'd  a 
told  'im  where  he'd  find  'em.  As  'tis,  he  may  do  his  own 
huntin',  frail  o'  me." 

And  Jotham's  uneasy  conscience  was  at  rest.  Joanna 
had  tacitly  shouldered  the  responsibility  and  his  back  was 
free. 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  95 


CHAPTER     II. 

LOST    IN   THE    DRIFTS. 

And  the  Elder  and  John  rode  steadily  if  not  briskly  out 
upon  the  unbroken  road  leading  to  the  old  farmstead.  There 
was  no  chance  of  their  missing  the  way,  for  John  Wvrnan 
could  have  followed  that  old,  seldom  travelled  road  with  his 
eyes  shut.  How  many  times  he  had  tramped  over  it  with 
gun  or  fishing-rod  over  his  boyish  shoulder,  while  later — he 
smiled  involuntarily  at  the  memory  of  those  precious  drives 
and  walks  with  pretty  Bessie  Lindsey  at  his  side,  with  the 
inevitable  stop  on  the  way  to  taste  of  grandma'am  Mitch- 
el's  doughnuts  and  cheese,  or  as  was  often  the  case,  to  leave 
some  delicacy  that  the  well-to-do  Deacon  could  well  afford. 

For  the  dear  old  lady,  with  only  her  chore  boy  for  com- 
pany, had  chosen  to  spend  the  long  years  of  her  widowhood 
in  the  pleasant,  comfortable  old  farmhouse,  to  which  she 
had  come  as  a  bride,  where  all  her  children  had  beeu  born, 
and  over  whose  threshold  the  tender  partner  of  her  life  had 
been  carried  out  to  his  long  rest. 

As  the  horse  ploughed  wearily  through  the  drifts  John 
thought,  with  a  tender  longing,  of  those  long,  bright,  sum- 
mer days,  until  he  almost  fancied  he  could  feel  his  bare  feet 
softly  pressing  the  grassy  ridges  that  lay  between  the  rarely 
travelled  wheel  tracks,  and  hear  the  merry  trill  of  the  bob- 
olink swinging  upon  the  outstretched  arm  of  that  very  wil- 
low that  they  were  passing  now, — such  a  knowing,  saucy 
note  it  was,  that  the  lad  half  believed  that  the  feathered 
gallant  mistrusted  that  his  errand  out  to  this  neighborhood 


96       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

was  not  all  after  trout  or  even  with  an  eye  to  grandrna'am 
Mitchel's  early  sweetings. 

Still  in  spite  of  all  his  pleasant  reminiscences,  the  young 
man  could  not  be  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  their  way  was 
every  moment  growing  more  and  more  difficult,  and  that 
upon  this  lonely  road  their  situation  might  even  become 
perilous  if  their  horse's  strength  should  give  out  before  they 
could  reach  a  shelter. 

Every  now  and  then  the  weary  animal  would  stop  short 
before  some  immense  drift  that  he  could  by  no  possibility 
make  his  way  through  unaided,  and  then  the  two  men, 
standing  to  their  waists  in  the  snow,  would  by  dint  of  much 
lifting,  coaxing  and  urging,  aid  him  in  dragging  the  sleigh 
over,  rather  than  through,  the  closely  packed  mass.  But 
their  progress  was  slow, — very  slow,  while  the  drifts  were 
constantly  increasing  in  size  and  number. 

John  looked  anxiously  toward  tlie  west  and  noticed  with 
a  thrill  of  apprehension  that  the  sun  had  long  since  passed 
the  zenith,  and  that  the  leaden  grey  of  the  short  winter 
afternoon  was  already  creeping  over  the  snow-shrouded 
landscape.  And  still  the  snow  fell  steadily,  while  not  a 
house  was  in  sight,  and  to  add  to  their  discomfort  a  sharp, 
piercing  wind  had  risen  that  sent  an  icy  chill  even  through 
his  warm,  furry  wrappings. 

His  companion  too,  was  shivering,  although  he  kept  up 
his  courage  manfully. 

"I  think,"  the  young  man  began,  then  looked  about  him 
in  perfect  bewilderment. 

The  landscape  in  its  snowy  mask  was  utterly  strange  to 
him, — not  a  tree,  or  fence  top,  not  even  a  guide-post  with 
friendly,  outstretched  arm,  not  so  much  as  a  barn  or  shingle 
camp, — just  one  wide  waste  of  tossing,  whirling,  drifting 
snow . 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  97 

"Good  Lord,  deliver  us." 

It  was  not  an  exclamation  but  a  prayer,  simple,  calm 
and  trustful,  although  the  lips  that  uttered  it  were  so  stif- 
fened and  chilled  that  the  words  were  scarcely  audible  to 
his  companion.  But  faint  as  they  were,  they  lent  fresh 
courage  to  his  heart,  and  with  a  whispered  "amen"  upon 
his  own  lips  he  urged  the  weary  horse  forward. 

How  long,  how  far,  neither  could  tell.  The  poor  creature 
floundered  and  struggled  through  great  drifts,  from  which 
he  emerged  trembling  in  every  limb,  and  evidently  growing 
weaker  every  minute. 

Every  now  and  then  John  spoke  to  the  silent  figure  by 
his  side,  i?isisting  upon  a  reply,  although  the  words  were 
uttered  in  a  strange,  sleepy,  far  away  tone,  that  sent  a  thrill 
of  ominous  apprehension  to  the  young  man's  heart. 

At  last  the  horse  stopped,  staggered,  and  the  next  instant 
fell  heavily  in  his  tracks.  John  sprang  from  the  sleigh  and 
wading  to  his  side,  tried  by  every  means  in  his  power  to 
arouse  the  exhausted  animal  to  further  exertions. 

But  all  in  vain.  The  poor  brute  lay  limp,  helpless,  al- 
most lifeless,  and  the  young  man,  setting  his  teeth  tightly 
together  to  keep  back  the  cry  of  despair  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
unfastened  the  traces,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  releasing  the 
animal  from  the  burden  of  his  harness  and  getting  him 
upon  his  feet.  "Perhaps,  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  "the 
poor  brute  will  be  able  to  save  himself,  he  can  do  nothing 
for  us." 

Then  turning  to  his  companion,  who  sat  bolt  upright  and 
silent  in  his  seat,  he  cried  as  loudly  as  his  chattering  teeth 
would  permit : 

••Wake  up.  Elder!  For  God's  sake,  don't  go  to  sleep 
no-ju !     I'll  cover  you  up  with  the  sleigh  robes,    and. — here 


98       RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

take  a  swallow  of  this.  It'll  keep  the  life  in  you  I  hope 
till  I  can  get  back  with  help." 

Mechanically,  like  one  in  a  dream,  the  half  frozen  man 
swallowed  the  cordial,  and  revived  enough  to  make  the  nec- 
essary effort  to  rouse  himself  from  the  deadly  stupor  into 
which  he  was  fast  falling. 

By  this  time  the  horse  seemed  eager  to  move,  and  holding 
fast  to  his  mane  John  struck  out  boldly  in  the  direction 
that  he  felt  sure  the  old  farmhouse  must  be.  AVeak  and 
chilled  though  he  was,  the  sturdy  brute  kept  upon  his  feet, 
and  by  the  warmth  and  protection  of  his  body  gave  no  little 
help  to  his  master,  who,  keeping  close  to  his  side,  aided  and 
encouraged  him  with  a  kind  word  or  touch  every  now  and 
then,  that  the  intelligent  animal  seemed  to  understand  and 
to  try  his  best  to  keep  from  giving  up  the  unequal  contest. 

But  the  strength  of  both  man  and  beast  was  fast  failing. 
The  afternoon  shadows  grew  deeper  and  deeper  ;  the  wind 
rose  higher  and  howled  exultantly  like  an  army  of  pursuing 
demons,  while  the  deadly  chill  that  had  been  gradually 
creeping  closer  to  the  young  man's  heart  clutched  with  its 
icy  hand  at  his  very  vitals.  He  leaned,  weak  and  benumbed, 
against  the  side  of  his  faithful  companion,  and  with  a  half- 
formed  prayer  for  "forgiveness", — he  had  gotten  beyond 
the  hope  even  of  "help" — he  prepared  to  resign  himself  to 
his  fate  and  leave  the  world,  so  full  to  him  of  love  and  hope 
and  joy. 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  99 


CHAPTER    III. 

••Thank  God  I" 

The  next  moment  John  Wyinan  had  fallen  upon  his  knees 
in  the  snow,  and  if  ever  a  prayer  of  unfeigned  gratitude 
went  up  to  God  it  rose  at  that  moment  from  the  heart  of 
that  scarce  rescued  man. 

Onlv  a  slender  column  of  smoke,  dimly  visible  through 
the  snow-thick  atmosphere,  but  a  sure  and  blessed  prophecy 
of  human  companionship  and  aid. 

They  had  wandered  but  a  short  distance  from  the  sleigh, 
and  their  tracks  were  not  yet  quite  obliterated,  so  that  it 
was  not  an  impossible  task,  with  the  certainty  of  life  before 
him,  for  the  stalwart  young  man  to  retrace  his  steps,  and 
partly  by  entreaty,  partly  by  force,  to  bring  his  half  frozen 
comrade  to  the  shelter  of  the  old  farmhouse. 

The  darkness  was  close  upon  them,  yet  a?  they  dragged 
themselves  through  the  deep  drifts  to  the  door,  a  face — 
brighter,  sweeter,  dearer  in  John  Wyman's  eyes  than  any 
other  the  wide  world  over. — looked  out  from  the  warm,  fire- 
lighted  interior,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  door  was  flung 
open  and  the  Deacon's  strong  arms  caught  the  fainting  Par- 
son before  he  could  touch  the  threshold,  while  a  pair  of  soft 
girlish  hands  brushed  the  clinging  snow  from  her  lover's 
hair  and  beard,  and  two  warm  lips  were  pressed,  tremulous 
yet  unashamed,  to  his  own. 

Warmth  and  a  cup  of  hastily  prepared  tea,  hot  and  strong, 
soon  restored  the  strength  of  the  travellers,  and  then,  with 
tears  of  thankfulness,   Bessie  told  her   story,   and  the  two 


100     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

men  learned  how  narrow  the  chance  had  been  of  their  find- 
ing shelter  in  the  old  homestead  even  if  they  had  succeeded 
in  reaching  it. 

Grandma'am's  shock  had  proved  a  slight  one,  and  after 
seeing  her  daughter  and  granddaughter,  the  old  lady  herself 
urged  their  return  to  the  village  that  afternoon. 

"A  put-off  weddin' 
Makes  double  reddin'," 

was  her  argument,  and  Aunt  Crossman  was  not  at  all  averse 
to  this  view  of  the  case. 

"It's  just  as  mother  says,"  she  remarked  rather  sharply, 
as  the  Deacon  hesitated,  in  view  of  the  increasing  storm. 
"If  a  weddin's  put  off  you've  got  to  go  over  all  the  ground 
again,— get  ready  twice  over,  sweep  and  dust,  and  build  up 
fires  all  over  the  house  a  second  time.  Xow  f'r  ?/iy  part,  I 
ain't  a  bit  afraid  to  resk  a  ride  back  this  afternoon.  What 
in  the  world  do  you  suppose  John'll  think,  comin'  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  findin'  his  bride-to-be,  and  everybody  else,  off  no- 
body knows  where?" 

And  so,  contrary  to  his  own  judgment,  the  good  natured 
Deacon  started  on  his  homeward  way,  his  load  increased  by 
the  addition  of  Aunt  Crossman's  hundred  and  fifty  avoirdu- 
pois. Perhaps  it  was  the  extra  weight  on  that  side  of  the 
sleigh,  or  perhaps  the  driver's  hands  were  benumbed  with 
the  cold,  but  just  as  they  came  opposite  the  forsaken  home- 
stead, Jack  stumbled,  and  over  went  the  sleigh,  Aunt  Cross- 
man  underneath  ;  and  when,  after  much  floundering  and 
confusion,  she  was  finally  extricated,  it  was  found  her  ankle 
was  so  badly  sprained  that  her  companions  had  much  ado  to 
get  her  into  the  house,  where,  before  a  blazing  fire  and  with 
her  ankle  comfortably  bandaged  by  Bessie's  deft  fingers,  the 
good  woman  was  forced  to  resign  herself  to  the  inevitable. 

"It's  a  strange  Providence,  though,"   she  sighed,    "shut- 
ting us  up  here,  for,  nobody  knows  how  long." 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  101 

But  when  an  hour  later  she  watched  the  half  frozeu  men 
coming  back  to  life  and  courage  under  the  blessed  influences 
of  the  genial  fire  and  Bessie's  hastily  prepared  tea,  she  sol- 
emnly, and  for  her,  meekly,  acknowledged  the  presence  of  a 
wiser  hand  than  her  own  in  the  accident  that  had  detained 
them,  such  unwilling  prisoners. 

"If  we  hadn't  been  here  there  wouldn't  have  been  no  fire, 
so  you  wouldn't  had  the  smoke  for  a  guide,  or  even  if  you 
had  happened  to  find  your  way,  you  couldn't  a'  got  in  with- 
out a  key.  Yes,  no  doubt  it's  for  the  best,  as  you  said, 
Deacon.  But," — in  an  aside  for  Bessie's  benefit, —  "I  do 
hope  that  blunderhead  of  a  Jotham  won't  think  he's  got  to 
build  up  a  fire  in  the  front  room  for  nothin'." 

"TVe  might  as  well  take  an  inventory  of  our  stores,"  re- 
marked Bessie,  as  cheerily  as  if  a  well  stocked  market  had 
been  close  to  her  hand  for  her  to  select  from. 

"If  this  storm  lasts  through  the  night  the  drifts  will  be 
so  high  that  it  may  be  a  week  before  the  roads  will  be 
broken  out  enough  for  us  to  get  away." 

Aunt  Crossman  groaned  and  the  Deacon  looked  apprehen- 
sive. "  'Taint  no  ways  likely  that  grandma'am  left  a  very 
big  stock  of  provisions  to  freeze  up  while  she  was  away 
through  the  winter,"  he  said  gravely. 

"There's  wood  enough,  thank  the  Lord  !  to  keep  us  warm 
and  plenty  of  hay  and  oats  for  the  hosses,  and  if  worst 
comes  to  worst, — why,  there's — but  I  do  declare,  I  should 
feel  like  a  cannibal,  eatin'  one  o'  Jack's  steaks." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  there  were  tears  in  Bessie's  soft 
eyes,  although  she  laughed  as  she  gave  his  hand  a  reasuring 
pat. 

"We  won't  be  reduced  to  such  straits  as  that,  I  hope. 
And  now  for  a  look  at  the  flour  barrel.  Yes,"  putting  her 
head  out  of  the  pantry  door  a  moment  later,  "there's  half  a 


102     RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

barrel  here,  and  enough  dry  yeast  cakes  to  last  a  year.  So 
the  principal  thing  is  provided  for, — nobody  ever  starved 
yet  with  plenty  of  good,  wholesome  bread  to  eat.  And 
here's  tea,  and  salt,  and  soda,  and,  what  do  you  think?  half 
ajar  of  strained  honey  ! — so  much  for  the  luxuries.  And 
here's  a  string  of  sausages  and  a  ham  bone.  Why,  we'll 
live  like  princes." 

And  with  this  hopeful  prediction  she  bustled  about  and 
hunted  up  one  of  grandma'am's  kitchen  aprons  which  she 
tied  about  her  dainty  waist,  pretending  all  the  while,  the 
sly  puss  !  that  she  had  no  idea  of  the  admiring  eyes  follow- 
ing her  every  movement  as  she  flitted  from  pantry  to  kitch- 
en making  preparations  for  the  coming  meal. 

••We'll  have  some  nice  hot  muffins  for  supper,"  she  an- 
nounced complacently.  "Flour  and  water,  and  a  little  bak- 
ing powder,  with  a  great  spoonful  of  this  new  fallen  snow, 
and  a  hot  oven  to  bake  them  in,  will  make  very  good  eating 
with  some  of  the  honey  to  give  them  a  relish." 

" What,  without  milk  or  eggs?"  queried  Aunt  Crossman 
doubtfully. 

Bessie  nodded,  she  was  evidently  mistress  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"The  snow  will  take  the  place  of  eggs.  It  contains 
about  ten  times  its  bulk  in  air,  and  these  air  cells  will  ex- 
pand with  the  heat  and  make  the  dough  as  light  as  an  egg 
would,"  she  explained,  adding,  with  a  demure  glance  at  her 
lover,  "I  learned  that  much  of  practical  chemistry  at  Wel- 
lesley." 

Just  then  the  Deacon  entered,  stamping  the  snow  from 
his  heavy  boots  and  bearing  a  brimming  water  pail  in  his 
hand  that  he  deposited  upon  the  sink  shelf,  with  the  doubt- 
ful comment : 

"I  wallered  up  to  my  arm  pits  in  snow  to  get  to  the  well 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  103 

so't  yer  Aunt  Grossman  could  have  some  well  water  to  drink, 
(this  melted  snow  goes  agin  her  stomach,  she  says.)  But 
now  I've  got  it  it's  pretty  mean  lookin'  accordin'  to  my 
idea~." 

Bessie  glanced  at  the  dark,  unappetizing  looking  liquid 
with  evident  disgust,  while  Aunt  Grossman  explained  that 
"the  well  hadn't  been  used  these  two  years.  Grandma'am 
had  got  all  her  drinking  water  from  the  spring  above,  and 
that  was  one  reason  why  she  went  out  to  Nathan's  for  the 
winter,  because  she  couldn't  get  to  the  spring  when  the 
snow  was  on  the  ground." 

'•It  never'd  ought  to  been  dug  where  'twas,"  put  in  the 
Deacon.  "It's  so  sandy  there  that  the  rotten  leaves  and 
weeds  wash  down  through  and  that's  what  spoils  the  water." 

"Boiling  will  purify  it,"  suggested  Bessie,  "or,  better 
still,  because  it's  less  trouble,  we  might  put  some  oak  chips 
in  it.  they  would  serve  the  same  purpose." 

"I  can  chop  wood,"  interrupted  John,  glad  to  make  him- 
self useful,  and  as  he  took  the  axe  from  behind  the  wood- 
shed door,  he  asked  curiously  : 

"How  do  the  oak  chips  purify  the  water?" 

"It's  the  tannin,"  explained  Bessie,  stopping  an  instant  in 
her  work  to  smile  back  upon  the  questioner.  "There  is  in 
all  these  impure  waters  something  of  an  albuminous  sub- 
stance, and  the  tannin  makes  that  thicken  and  fall  to  the 
bottom,  where  it  carries  all  the  other  impurities  with  it." 

"That  is  why,  I  suppose,"  observed  the  Parson  from  his 
easy  chair  by  the  fire,  "that  it  is  thought  that  the  tree  that 
Moses  was  commanded  to  cast  into  the  bitter  waters  at  Ma- 
rah  was  a  species  of  oak?" 

This  started  a  discussion  with  the  Deacon  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  miracles,  and  left  Bessie  at  liberty  to  arrange  and  de- 
cide upon  the  capabilities   of  her    limited   larder,    and   with 


104     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

John's  assistance,  to  bring  from  the  cellar  a  basket  of  half- 
frozen  potatoes,  a  cabbage  and  a  small  piece  of  salt  pork 
that  had,  luckily  for  them,  been  left  floating  in  the  brine  of 
the  pork  barrel  at  the  time  of  the  old  lady's  migration,  a 
couple  of  months  before. 

The  vegetables  were  being  packed  in  snow  to  thaw  grad- 
ually, with  the  reminder  from  Bessie  that  the  potatoes  would 
make  a  good  breakfast  fried  in  some  of  the  pork  fat,  when 
all  at  once  a  thought  occurred  to  that  provident  damsel  that 
brought  a  troubled  look  to  her  bright  face,  as  she  said  in  an 
undertone,  that  the  group  in  the  next  room  might  not  hear  : 

"Do  you  know  there  isn't  a  grain  of  coffee  in  the  house? 
I've  searched  high  and  low  for  some,  because  Aunt  Cross- 
man  is  so  dependent  upon  her  morning  cup  of  coffee.  Now, 
what  shall  we  do  ?" 

Her  companion  knit  his  brows  thoughtfully. 

"I've  heard  of  folks  using  chicory,"  he  ventured  help- 
lessly. 

Bessie  laughed  mischievously. 

"I'm  afraid  that  would  be  as  hard  for  us  to  get  just  now 
as  the  coffee  itself." 

"Sure  enough.  Well,  I  don't  see  any  way  but  for  us  to 
do  without." 

A  man's  ultimatum.  But  Bessie  was  not  so  ready  to 
give  up  her  coffee.  "In  some  countries  they — well  now, 
perhaps — let's  try  the  attic." 

And  in  the  attic,  sure  enough,  they  found  what  she 
wanted, — a  box  of  carefully  dried  acorns. 

It  was  voted  to  keep  this  discovery  from  the  others  for 
the  present,  until  John  with  his  sharp  pocket  knife  had 
removed  the  shells,  leaving  only  the  small,  dry  kernels, 
which  were  placed  in  the  oven  to  roast. 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  105 

•;I  don't  see  how  they  can  be  made  to    taste  like  coffee 
for  the  life  of  me,"  whispered  John,  as   alter    frequent  sur- 
reptitious stirrings  and  testings  the  nut.-'  were  declared  by  the 
head  cook  to  be  sufficiently  roasted,  and  ready  to  be  ground 
for  cotfee  as  soon  as  cool. 

Bessie  nodded  her  little  head  knowingly  : 

•'Why  not,  when  they  have  the  principal  qualities  that 
the  coffee  berry  has, — gluten,  caffeine,  tannic  acid  and  sugar? 
All  they  will  need  will  be  a  little  soda  in  the  water  to  give 
the  alkaline  flavor." 

••There  are  two  things,"'  admitted  Bessie  regretfully  at 
supper  as  she  poured  the  steaming,  fragrant  tea  into  the 
little  old-fashioned,  blue  china  cups,  "that  I  can  find  no 
substitute  for.  and  those  are  sugar  and  milk.  To  be  sure," 
she  added  laughing,  "if  I  only  had  a  bottle  of  sulphuric 
acid  I  could  make  grape  sugar  out  of  grandma'am's  box  of 
starch  or  some  clean  sawdust.  But  I  don't  know  of  any 
chemical  combination  that  would  take  the  place  of  a    cow." 

Everybody  laughed,  while  even  Aunt  Grossman  declared 
herself  perfectly  contented  with  the  light,  delicate  muffins 
and  honey,  and  the  tea,  steeped  not  boiled  in  the  earthen 
teapot. 

•'It's  queer,"  remarked  the  Deacon,  as  he  passed  his  cup 
for  a  second  filling,  "what  a  sight  o'  difference  there  is  in 
folks  makin'  tea.  Now  Joanna  always  biles  her  tea  if  she 
ain't  looked  after,  and  she  uses  a  third  more  tea,  and  then 
you  don't  get  tjie  strength  of  it  as  you  do  made  in  this  way. 
just  simmered.'''' 

•Tt  really  don't  need  sugar  or  milk,"  added  the  Parson 
gallantly. 

"That's  what  the  Chinaman  says,"  laughed  Bessie,  "and 

the  Arab  drinks  his  coffee  the  same  way,  without  either." 
8 


IOC     RE-TOLD  TALES   OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

4iSo."  with  a  side  glance  at  her  co-conspirator,  "I  hope 
you  won't  so  mind  the  lack  of  them  in  yours  at  breakfast, 
in  the  morning.'' 

The  elder  lady  drew  a  sigh  of  relief. 

kkIt  wouldn't  a'  been  like  me  to  have  complained  any 
way."  she  remarked  virtuously.  "But  now  that  I  know 
we're  to  have  our  coffee.  I  will  own  that  I've  been  terribly 
exercised  about  it,  for  in  case  we  should  have  to  stay  here 
two  or  three  days  I  don't  know  as  I  could  'a  kept  up  with- 
out it." 

Bessie's  smile  was  so  very  innocent  that  not  one  of  the 
party  dreamed,  when  listening  that  evening  to  the  familiar 
rattle  of  the  coffee  mill,  that  it  was  not  the  genuine  coffee 
berry  that  was  undergoing  such  a  brisk  dessication  under 
John's  willing  hands. 

There  were  plenty  of  beds,  but  the  disused  chambers 
were  terribly  cold,  and  while  the  ladies  made  themselves 
comfortable  in  an  adjoining  bedroom,  the  men  preferred 
camping  down  upon  the  floor  of  the  warm  sitting  room, 
upon  the  beds  that  Bessie  had  improvised  for  them  with  so 
much  care  that  even  the  Deacon's  rheumatic  limbs  never 
complained  once  during  the  long,  cold  night,  while  the  storm 
without  still  raged  on,  and  the  ill-fitting  windows  kept  up  a 
rattling  accompaniment  to  the  fierce  gusts  that  swept  about 
the  unsheltered  old  house. 

The  Parson  and  the  Deacon,  after  reverently  committing 
themselves  to  the  care  of  that  loving  Father  who  had  so  sig- 
nally interposed  that  day  to  save  them  from  danger  and 
death,  lay  down  contentedly  upon  their  warm  beds  and 
slept  the  calm,  dreamless  sleep  of  wearied  men,  but  their 
more  youthful  companion  after  replenishing  the  lire,  sat 
down  beside  it,  glad  of  the  freedom  to  indulge  in  those 
blissful  dreams  that  only  happy  lovers  know. 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  107 

For  the  first  time  he  acknowledged,  even  to  himself,  that 
his  mother's  persistant  opposition  to  his  marriage  with  Bes-  . 
sie  had  really  awakened  some  fears  in  his  own  heart  as  to 
her  fitness  to  share  the  hardships  of  a  pioneer's  life,  and  he 
had  grown  to  feel  half  guilty  of  an  unmanly  selfishness  in 
exposing  her  to  the  unavoidable  privations  of  his  Western 
home. 

But  now, — the  flame  that  leaped  suddenly  out  of  the  great 
oak  fore-stick  seemed  laughing  back  to  his  tender  confidences, 
— all  was  made  straight  and  smooth  before  their  feet. 

Why,  the  very  education  that  his  mother  had  predicted 
would  unfit  her  for  a  Western  housewife,  would  be  her  best 
help  in  overcoming  adverse  circumstances  and  transforming 
seemingly  useless  things  into  the  comforts  and  necessaries 
of  life. 

In  a  warm  corner  of  the  wide  brick  hearth  was  set  the 
pan  of  bread  sponge,  covered  with  a  snowy  cloth,  the 
bright  tin  sides  of  the  pan  reflecting  the  dancing,  flickering 
firelight  with  a  pleasant  suggestiveness  that  made  the 
young  man's  face  assume  a  smile  at  once  tender  and  humor- 
ous, as  he  seemed  to  hear  again  in  the  brave,  girlish  tones, 
the  cheering  prophecy  that  had  accompanied  its  final  adjust- 
ment for  the  night. 

"Such  breakfast  rolls  as  I  shall  give  you,  if  John  don't 
let  the  fire  go  down,  won't  need  butter  to  make  them 
eatable." 

Really,  there  is  a  deal  of  romance  even  in  such  a  prosaic 
thing  as  bread  raising  if  one  only  looks  at  it  from  the  van- 
tage ground  that  youth  and  love  make  possible.  And  Bes- 
sie, in  her  role  of  ''housekeeping  under  difficulties,"  was 
more  bewitchingly  sweet  in  her  lover's  eyes  than  she  had 
ever  seemed  in  all  her  life  before. 


108     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Dreamily  the  young  man  recalled  the  past  as  he  sat 
there  alone  with  himself  and  his  own  thoughts. 

The  little  school  girl,  with  her  dainty  frills  and  smoothly 
braided  locks,  who  always  beat  him  at  spelling,  but  was 
only  too  glad  of  his  help  in  her  arithmetic  ;  the  shy  maiden, 
all  smiles  and  blushes,  who  sat  or  walked  or  rode  by  his 
side,  too  innocent  to  hide  her  girlish  preference  for  her 
youthful  escort ;  and  the  fair,  modest,  self-possessed  young 
lady  who  did  the  honors  of  her  father's  house  so  gracefully, 
while  with  her  gentle  womanliness  she  set  all  about  her  at 
their  ease,  and  by  some  magic  known  to  herself  alone  con- 
trived to  find  and  bring  forward  the  best  in  everybody,  un- 
til their  uncouthness  and  rustic  mannerisms  seemed  to  drop 
from  them  like  Cinderella's  mean  garments  in  the  "play, 
transforming  them  for  the  time  into  an  unsuspected  beauty 
and  grace.  She  was  the  only  one,  child  or  woman,  who 
had  ever  won  from  him  more  than  a  passing  kindly  thought, 
and  she  had  been  by  turns,  play-mate,  sweetheart  and  be- 
trothed wife.  But  now  a  dearer,  closer,  tenderer  title  sug- 
gested itself  and  nestled  like  a  sweet,  warm,  palpable  pres- 
ence in  his  bosom — the  very  crown  and  essence  of  wifehood 
— a  helpmate  for  him. 

The  dying  brands  slowly  crumbled  and  fell  apart,  and  in 
their  rosy  glow  he  seemed  to  see  the  small,  rudely  built  cab- 
in, in  the  midst  of  those  wide,  fertile  acres,  from  which  his 
strong  right  arm  was  to  wrest  the  wealth  that,  in  future 
years,  should  place  him  and  his  above  the  fear  even  of 
want,  and  fully  realized  for  the  first  time  what  a  help  and 
inspiration  that  brave,  womanly  presence  would  be  in  his 
humble  home. 

"God  bless  her  !" 

It  was  but  a  whisper,  yet  in   the    intense   stillness   it  evi- 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  109 

dently  reached  the  ears  of  the  sleeping  Parson  who  stirred 
uneasily  and  muttered  unconsciously  the  apt  addendum  : 
"And  she  shall  be  blessed." 

The  breakfast  next  morning  was  a  wonderful  success. 
Aunt  Crossman  drank  her   improvised   coffee  unsuspect- 
ingly, although  she  could  not  forbear  the  remark  that 

'•Mother  always  would  buy  this  rank  Rio  instead  of  the 
mixed  Mocha  and  Java." 

And  the  Deacon  so  far  forgot  the  situation  as  to  ask  if 
"there  wasn't  a  doughnut  or  cookie  to  top  off  with?" 

Of  course  he  must  be  indulged  if  possible,  and  Bessie 
fresh  from  her  classical  readings  proved  herself  equal  to 
the  emergency. 

'•The  Greeks  and  Romans  used  to  make  small,  flat  cakes, 
something  like  our  drop  cakes,  I  suppose,  with  oil  and 
honey,  instead  of  butter  and  sugar.  Grandma  always 
keeps  olive  oil  in  the  house  for  her  salads,  and  if  I  can  find 
a  bottle  I  can  make  some  cakes  for  father  that  will  be  better 
than  nothing  with  his  coffee." 

And  as  a  careful  search  revealed  nearly  a  bottle  full  of 
pure  olive  oil  among  the  old  lady's  stores,  the  party  was  re- 
galed at  supper  upon  cakes  that  would  certainly  have  taken 
the  prize  at  a  Greek  or  Roman  Fair. 

••What  a  pity,"  sighed  Aunt  Grossman,  as  the  last  of  the 
sausages  disappeared,  "that  there  ain't  some  peas  or  beans 
in  the  house.  That  ham  bone  ain't  got  meat  enough  to  pay 
for  the  boiling,  but  'twould  be  prime  to  flavor  a  pea  or  bean 
stew." 

A  little  later,  as  the  three  men  sat  rather  listlessly  about 
the  fire  evidently  tired  of  doing  nothing,  Bessie  made  her 
appearance,  flushed  and  snow  besprinkled,  with  a  measure 
of  oats  in  her  mittened  hands  and  the  laughing  announce- 
ment : 


110     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"I've  found  something  to  keep  you  awake,  if  nothing  else. 
I'm  going  to  have  stewed  peas  for  to-morrow's  dinner  and 
you  will  have  to  pick  them  out  of  the  oats  for  me." 

"Good  land  alive!"  cried  the  Deacon."  "Pick  peas 
enough  out  of  them  oats  for  a  dinner?  Why,  it'll  take  a 
week  of  Sundays." 

But  Aunt  Crossman  calmly  spread  a  newspaper  in  her 
lap  and  poured  some  of  the  oats  into  it  with  the  grim  re- 
minder : 

"Our  time,  Deacon,  is  a  good  deal  like  a  setting  hen's — it 
don't  amount  to  much.  \Ve  might  as  well  pick  over  oats  as 
ter  set  here  twiddlin  our  thumbs,  so  far's  I  can  see."  And 
with  a  good  deal  of  laughing  and  good-natured  banter  the 
whole  party  set  to  work,  encouraged  by  Bessie,  who,  to 
vary  the  monotony  of  their  work,  told  them  in  her  own 
merry  fashion  the  story  of  that  much  abused  princess,  who 
being  set  to  work  to  pick  out,  one  by  one,  the  grains  of 
wheat  from  a  big  pile  of  barley,  was  helped  by  the  ants,  so 
that  her  work  was  done  in  time  and  the  cruel  step-mother's 
plans  defeated. 

This  reminded  the  Parson  of  some  of  his  queer  exper- 
iences as  a  school-master  in  one  of  the  backwoods  settle- 
ments, and  of  the  fried  salt  pork  and  Johnny-cake  flavored 
with  caraway  seeds  in  honor  of  "the  master,"  all  of  which 
he  had  to  pick  out  before  he  could  swallow  a  morsel. 

Then,  in  turn,  John  told,  with  more  of  pathos  than  hu- 
mor, of  the  sights  that  he  had  seen  upou  the  Western  prai- 
ries, when  in  the  autumn  the  Indian  women  and  children 
scoured  the  plains  for  miles  around  gathering  the  ripened 
seeds  of  the  golden  rod  and  other  wild  flowers  to  help  eke 
out  their  scanty  winter  stores. 

The  Deacon  and  Aunt  Crossman  each  had  a  story  to  tell, 
and  it  was  really  wonderful  how  soon  the  basin  was  filled 


A  college  girl.  Ill 

with  the  clean,  oat-free  cereals,  and  what  a  feeling  of  pro- 
prietorship they  all  felt  in  the  delicious  dish  of  stewed  peas 
that  Bessie  served  up  for  their  dinner. 

For  forty-eight  hours  the  storm  raged  on.  and  even  after 
the  sun  showed  a  reluctant  face  over  the  white  capped  east- 
ern hills,  it  was  two  whole  days  before  the  roads  were  in  a 
condition  for  the  passage  of  single  teams,  and  during  all 
those  long,  unemployed  hours,  what  a  treasure  our  bright, 
ingenious,  sensible  college  girl  proved  herself. 

Apart  from  the  substantial  comforts  that  woman's  wit, 
aided  by  the  scholar's  craft,  had  contrived  to  provide  for 
them  out  of  her  scanty  stores,  her  well  trained  voice  made 
cheerful  the  long,  idle  evenings,  with  son::  and  recitation. 
She  told  stories  and  invented  games  :  popped  corn  on  the 
hut  stove  covers  and  afterward  ground  it  in  the  coffee  mill 
to  serve  as  a  thickening  for  an  original  kind  of  mush  that, 
served  up  hot  with  honey  made  a  very  palatable  breakfast 
dish. 

To  be  sure.  Aunt  Grossman  naturally  fretted  a  good  deal 
over  the  postponed  wedding,  and  the  Deacon  alternately 
yawned  and  wondered  if  his  chore  boy  would  remember 
what  days  the  pig  was  to  have  his  potatoes  boiled,  but  the 
younger  folks  enjoyed  their  novel  midwinter  picnic  im- 
mensely. 

••I  haven't  had  such  a  jolly  time  since  I  was  a  boy  and 
used  to  camp  out  in  father's  old  shingle  camp  through  the 
sugar  season,"  declared  the  Parson,  as  he  shelled  the  yellow 
kernels  from  an  ear  of  seed  corn  that  Bessie  had  ruthlessly 
confiscated  from  a  trace  in  the  attic.  "It's  a  wonder  how 
comfortable  people  can  make  themselves  upon  the  barest 
necessaries  of  life  if  they  only  know  how.'' 

••  If they  only  know  Ziozv  V  repeated  John  quizzically. 
"And  have  the  wit  and  wisdom  to  make  much  of  a  little, 


112     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

and  the  sweet,  unselfish  nature  that  manufactures  its  own 
sunshine  wherever  its  owner  happens  to  be."  The  Parson 
nodded  shrewdly  : 

"You'll  find  a  good  picture  of  that  kind  of  a  person  in  a 
certain  old  essay  written  some  three  thousand  years  ago 
by  one  who  ought  to  have  been  a  good  judge  in  such  mat- 
ters. He  says  that  the  price  of  such  a  one  is 'above  rubies/ 
and  that  'whosoever  getteth  her  getteth  a  good  thing.'  " 

John  smiled,  and  Bessie  blushed  beneath  her  lover's  eves 
as  he  said  emphatically  : 
'•I  agree  with  him." 

Three  whole  days  crept  slowly  by  before  the  rescuing 
party  from  the  village  succeedel  in  reaching  the  snow  bound 
travelers,  and  during  that  time  Joanna  reigned  untrammeled 
without  let  or  hindrance  in  Aunt  Crossman's  headless  home. 
Early  on  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day  the  out-of-town 
guests  began  to  arrive. 

Mrs.  Wyman,  prim  and  subdued,  yet  fully  conscious  of 
the  importance  of  her  position  as  mother-in-law  elect,  and 
her  husband. — a  meek  little  man,  and  an  amiable  in  spite 
of  chronic  dyspepsia. — with  half  a  score  of  uncles,  aunts 
and  cousins  on  both  sides  of  the  house  soon  filled  the  ample 
rooms,  up  stairs  and  down,  with  a  bustling,  cheery  crowd 
of  old  and  young,  grave  and  gay.  bashful  youths  and  mis- 
chievous girls. — all  a  tip-toe  with  eager  expectation,  although 
some  of  the  elders  gravely  shook  their  heals  at  fin  ling  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  still  absent,  and  hinted  at  the  possible 
necessity  lor  a  postponement  of  the  ceremony  if  the  storm 
should  show  no  signs  of  abatement. 

Mr-.  Wyman,  as  in  duty  bound,  promptly  frowned  down 
these  forebodings,  remarking  with  somewhat  unnecessary* 
emphasis,  that  '-John  Wyman  wa'ant  the  man  to  back  out 
of  a  bargain  once   made."     But   as   the    afternoon    waned, 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  113 

and  the  storm  seemed  rather  on  the  increase,  a  shade  of 
anxiety  crept  over  her  face,  and  hunting  up  her  husband 
who  was  enjoying  himself  after  his  own  fashion  with  his 
chair  tilted  upon  its  hind  legs  behind  the  kitchen  stove,  and 
a  cud  of  the  very  best  spruce  gum  between  his  leisurely 
moving  jaws,  she  asked  in  a  mysterious  half-whisper  : 

"Say,  ain't  it  most  a  wonder  that  John  and  the  Deacon's 
folks  ain't  put  in  an  appearance  yet?  You  don't  s'pose,"  with 
a  quaver  in  her  voice,  "that  anything  has  happened  to 'em?" 

Mr.  Wyman  meditatively  transferred  his  cud  from  one 
cheek  to  the  other,  and  slowly  brought  the  front  legs  of  his 
chair  to  the  level  of  the  floor  before  replying  to  his  wife's 
query. 

"AVa'all  no,  'taint  likely.  Fact  is,  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit 
surprised  if  they  was  all  snowed  up  out  ter  Nathan's — the 
whole  lot  of  'em.  The  Deacon's  a  dretfnl  cautious  man, — 
I  remember  once — "  "Oh  land  !  don't  dig  up  that  old  story 
again,"  interrupted  his  wife  tartly,  "I've  heard  it  five  hun- 
dred times  a'readv.  And  let  me  tell  you,  the  Deacon'll  be 
as  fierce  to  get  here  in  time  as  anybody."  But  for  all  her 
pretence  of  courage  the  good  woman's  heart  was  growing 
heavy  with  forebodings,  and  as  she  rejoined  the  wedding 
guests  assembled  in  the  cheerful  parlors,  there  was  a  cloud 
upon  her  brow  that  all  her  pride  could  not  conceal,  and 
some  of  the  more  observant  noticed  that  she  was  careful  to 
take  her  seat  at  the  window  overlooking  the  village  street 
where,  straining  her  eyes  through  the  gathering  twilight 
she  watched  anxiously  for  some  sign  of  the  wanderers. 

But  hour  after  hour  crept  slowly  by  with  no  sign  of  bride 
or  bridegroom,  and  in  spite  of  the  sumptuous  supper  with 
which  Joanna  regaled  them,  the  guests  began  to  lose  much 
of  their  hilarity,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  whispering  in 
corners,  and  an  air  of  forced  cheerfulness  that  to  Mrs.    Wy- 


114     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

man's  troubled  heart,  was  more  dispiriting  even  than  an  un- 
feigned anxiety  would  have  been. 

Nine,  ten,  eleven  times  the  tall  old  clock  in  the  corner 
sent  out  its  hourly  reminders,  and  now  even  Mrs .  Wyrnan 
was  forced  to  admit  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  a  wedding 
for  that  night  at  least,  and  with  as  good  a  grace  as  she 
could  assume,  joined  forces  with  Joanna  to  provide  for  the 
accommodation  of  all  these  unexpected  guests. 

"There's  four  empty  beds  and  one  o'  the  men  folks  can 
sleep  with  Jotham,"  announced  Joanna,  "but,"  with  an  air 
of  utter  helplessness,  "there's  four  more  to  be  accommo- 
dated, countin'  you  and  I  in.  Now  what  are  we  goin'  ter 
do  with  them,  let  'em  take  turns  sleepin'  ?"' 

"Do?"  echoed  the  matron  sharply,  "why,  do  as  anybody 
else'd  do  under  the  same  circumstances.  Make  up  some 
beds  on  the  floor  for  the  boys,  and  Mr.  Wyman  can  sleep 
on  that  wide  lounge  as  well  as  not."  But  Joanna  looked 
worried  and  uncertain. 

"It'll  make  an  awful  clutter,"  she  grumbled,  ''and  be- 
sides all  the  spare  beddin'  is  packed  away  in  the  attic,  and 
it'll  be  an  hour's  job  ter  get  everything  fixed,  and  f 'r  my 
part  I'm  tired  to  death  now  without  tuggin'  a  wagon  load  of 
comforters  and  blankets  down  two  flight  o'  stairs  jest  f'r  the 
fun  o'  tuggin'  'em  up  again  in  the  mornin'." 

Mrs.  Wyman  shut  her  thin  lips  together  tightly,  and  Jo- 
anna went  down  a  good  many  degrees  in  her  estimation. 
But  prudence  for  once  kept  back  the  sharp  words  that  rose 
to  her  lips,  and  with  an  inward  prayer  for  patience  she 
asked  : 

"You  can  hold  the  light,  I  s'pose,  for  Mr.  Wyman  an' 
Jotham  to  bring  'em  down  ?" 

But  even  with  the  pile  of  warm,  soft  bedding  ready  to 
her  hand  the   dull-witted  Joanna  seemed  to   have  no   idea 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  115 

whatever  as  to  the  best  way  to  utilize  it  for  the  comfort  of 
her  guests. 

••(-rive  me  a  good  straw  or  husk  bed  aud  one  of  live 
geese  feathers  on  top  and  I'll  make  up  a  bed  fit  f 'r  a  king  to 
sleep  in.  But  I'm  free  to  confess  that  I  ain't  never  had  no 
experience  in  makin'  camp  beds  on  the  bare  floor."  And 
the  speaker  tossed  her  head  with  an  air  intended  to  impress 
everybody  with  the  idea  that  she  considered  these  make- 
shifts far  beneath  a  person  of  her  abilities  and  scorned  to 
throw  away  her  energies  upon  them. 

To  be  sure  she  did  lend  some  clumsy,  unwilling  aid  to 
Mrs.  Wyman.  who  found  herself  obliged  to  do  the  im- 
promptu bed  making  in  spite  of  the  mute  protests  of  her 
rheumatic  limbs  during  the  process. 

"A  woman  that  can't  accommodate  herself  to  circum- 
stances ain't  worth  shucks  as  a  housekeeper."'  was  her  men- 
tal comment  as  she  laid  her  tired  head  upon  a  husk  bolster. 
— -the  only  apology  for  a  pillow  that  Joanna's  improvident 
distribution  of  these  articles  had  left  her. — and  dreamed  of 
the  days  long  gone  by.  when  with  the  scan  test  necessaries, 
and  fewer  still  of  the  conveniences  of  life,  she  had  made 
their  humble  home  not  only  comfortable  but  pleasant,  and 
as  her  young  husband  often  declared,  made  one  dollar  do 
the  work  of  five  just  by  her  woman's  wit  and  ingenuity. 
From  this  pleasant  dream  Joanna's  shrill  voice  was  not  a 
particularly  cheerful  awakening. 

"Say,  Mis'  Wyman,  do  wake  up  an'  tell  me  what  ter  do 
about  breakfast.  Mis'  Crossman  didn't  lay  out  ter  feed  all 
creation,  I  s'pose,  and  last  night  they  ate  up  all  the  cake  an' 
doughnuts  there  was  in  the  house  an'  about  all  the  bread. 
I  must  say  I'm  fairly  stuck  what  ter  have  for  breakfast.  I 
s'pose  I  can  bile  some  eggs  an'  bake  some  pertaters,  but 
what  under  the  sun  am  I  goiu'  ter  ^ive  'em  for  bread?" 


116     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Do?"  and  Mrs.  Wyman  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  sleepy 
eyes  wearily,  "why  can't  you  make  some  muffins?" 

"I  always  raise  my  muffins,  and  last  night  I  never  thought 
of  it  in  the  flurry  we  had  gettin'  'em  settled  for  the  night." 

"Well,  well !  some  good  hot  biscuits  '11  do  just   as  well.'' 

"That's  jest  what  I  can't  make,"  persisted  her  tormentor, 
"there  ain't  a  grain  o'  cream  o'  tartar  in  the  house,  and  I 
never  did  have  any  luck  with  sour  milk  biscuits." 

Poor  Mrs.  Wyman  groaned  in  spirit.  "Then  for  pity's 
sake  do  as  well  as  you  can  and  not  stand  here  frettin'  and 
fussin'  the  whole  morning  long  " 

Joanna  flounced  out  of  the  room,  and  the  next  moment 
her  shrill  voice  was  heard  all  over  the  house  as  she  warned 
the  tardy  lodgers  below  to — "rout  out!  and  get  the  room 
into  some  kind  o'  shape  for  the  rest  o'  the  crowd." 

That  her  assertion  in  regard  to  her  inability  to  make  sour 
milk  biscuit  was  true  nobody  doubted,  who  sat  down  to 
those  knobby,  flour-bespecked  lumps  of  baked  dough,  yellow 
with  saleratus,  and  burned  to  a  coal  on  the  side  next  the 
fire-box, — Joanna  being  unused  to  this  kind  of  a  stove,  as 
she  calmly  affirmed  in  excuse  for  their  unsavory  appearance. 

Poor  Mr.  Wyman  with  his  dyspeptic  stomach  wisely 
passed  them  by  and  contented  himself  with  a  diet  of  pota- 
toes and  eggs,  while  one  robust  youth,  as  he  helped  himself 
a  second  time,  remarked  slyly  to  his  next  neighbor  that 
"  'twas  better  to  eat  cannon  balls  than  to  starve."' 

What  a  weary  three  days  they  were  that  followed.  The 
newness  of  the  situation  soon  wore  off,  and  then  the  Dea- 
con's sharp  tongued  handmaiden  made  no  secret  of  the  fact 
that  she  felt  the  entertainment  of  all  these  snow-bound 
guests  as  a  disagreeable  task  that  she  was  in  no  way  bound 
to  make  pleasant  or  light.  The  situation  was  depressing  at 
its  best,  but  it  was  made  ten  times  more  so  by  the  ungra- 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  117 

cious  air  of  Mrs.  Crossnian's  factotum,  who  presided  over 
the  poorly  appointed  table  with  a  sour,  discontented  face, 
that  made  the  unwilling  guests  feel  like  a  lot  of  disreputable 
tramps  who,  as  soon  as  the  weather  would  permit,  were  to 
be  bundled  out  neck  and  heels  into  their  native  highway. 

"Put  upon  by  a  pack  o'  lazy  folks  that  don't  know  enough 
to  find  their  way  home  ;"  " waited  on  by  their  betters  ;"  and 
"eatin'  Mis'  Crossman  out  o'  house  an'  home,"  were  only 
specimens  of  the  whispered  fragments  that  lurked  behind 
every  door  where  Joanna  and  Jotham  could  squeeze  them- 
selves, until  the  very  atmosphere  of  the  roomy,  well  ap- 
pointed house,  hitherto  the  seat  of  a  large  handed,  even  os- 
tentatious hospitality,  seemed  full  of  churlish  sneers  and  un- 
gracious insinuations. 

And  the  most  mortifying  fact  of  all  was  that  Joanna 
really  had  some  just  cause  for  her  complaints.  Added  to 
the  disadvantages  of  working  in  an  unfamiliar  house  where 
much  of  her  time  was  necessarily  wasted  in  hunting  up  the 
tools  with  which  to  work,  the  girl  felt  keenly  the  unwonted 
burden  of  responsibility  resting  upon  her  shoulders  in  ca- 
tering for  a  party  of  people  who,  as  wedding  guests,  would 
naturally  expect  something  beyond  the  common,  wholesome 
plainness  of  country  fare. 

She  fretted  and  worried  and  gave  tart  refusals  to  all  offers 
of  help,  while  her  failures  in  cooking  (of  which  she  was 
quite  as  conscious  as  anybody)  added  to  her  discourage- 
ment and  consequent  ill  temper. 

The  climax  was  reached  when,  on  the  fourth  day,  the 
whole  party  sat  down  to  a  breakfast  of  hasty  pudding  and 
molasses,  with  neither  bread,  coffee  or  cake  as  an  alterna- 
tive. 

Joanna's  face  was  fiery  red,  and  she  dished  out  the  mush 
with  an  air  of  calm  desperation  that  made  even  the  frolic- 


118     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

some  youngsters  hush  their  merriment,  and  cast  sly  glances 
at  each  other  over  their  half-filled  plates,  while  Mr.  Wo- 
man's weak  stomach  absolutely  rejected  the  coarse  dish, 
much  to  his  wife's  discomfiture. 

"Ain't  there  some  bread  that  I  can  get  for  Mr.  Wyman?" 
she  asked  almost  humbly,  ''he  never  eats  puddin'  and  mo- 
lasses." 

"No,"  snapped  Joanna. 

"Or  some  crackers?"  persisted  the  distressed  wife.  "I 
can  make  him  a  little  cracker  toast  and  a  cup  o'  tea" — 

"There  ain't  no  crackers  nor  tea  in  the  house,"  was  the 
crisp  response,  "and  Jotham's  time's  been  so  took  up  with 
stable  work  that  he  ain't  had  a  minute  to  go  to  the  store  for 
any." 

Mr.  Wyman  patiently  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  taking 
his  quid  from  his  pocket  resumed  his  interrupted  gum  chew- 
ing with  the  mildly  consolatory  remark  : 

"I  can  stand  it  I  guess,  without  breakfast,  an'  bye  'n  bye 
I'll  see  'f  I  can't  get  down  to  the  store  and  get  some  crack- 
ers an'  cheese.  That'll  keep  us  from  starvin'  till  the  roads 
are  broke  out  an'  we  can  get  home." 

The  youngsters  giggled,  and  their  elders,  in  spite  of  the 
general  depression,  could  not  help  sharing  in  the  general 
amusement  created  by  the  little  man's  solemn  jest. 

Joanna  alone  relaxed  not  a  whit  of  the  severe  gravity  of 
her  countenance.  The  truth  is,  the  poor  girl  was  ready  to 
cry  with  mortification,  and  like  many  another  in  like  cir- 
cumstances it  was  easier  to  stand  upon  her  dignity  than  to 
frankly  acknowledge  herself  defeated.  Everything  had 
gone  wrong  from  the  first,  and  she  had  been  too  proud  to  ac- 
cept the  help  that  the  elder  matrons  would  so  willingly  have 
given  her.  Then  again,  she  was,  in  her  heart,  mortally 
afraid  of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  had  not  dared  on 


A    COLLEGE    GIRL.  119 

her  own  responsibility  to  replenish  the  depleted  larder  by 
sending  Jotham  to  the  store  for  articles  that  she  really 
needed. 

"They're  breaking  out  the  roads  in  all  directions,"  was 
the  cheering  report  a  little  later  from  one  of  the  men.  "'and 
most  likely  Mis'  Crossman  and  her  folks  will  be  here  by 
noon." 

The  dispirited  guests  brightened  up  wonderfully  at  this, 
and  when  at  an  even  earlier  hour  than  that  predicted,  the 
two  sleighs  drove  up  to  the  door,  Aunt  Crossman's  anxious 
eyes  saw  only  smiles  of  joyful  welcome  and  heard  from  half 
a  score  of  glad  voices  the  warmest  greeting  that  it  had  ever 
been  her  lot  to  receive. 

••What  did  you  do  for  vittles?"  queried  Mrs.  Wyman, 
after  hearing  the  thrilling  story  of  her  son's  escape  and 
their  detention  in  the  deserted  farmhouse.  4,I  shouldn't  a' 
thought  your  mother'd  been  likely  to  have  left  much  of  a 
stock  of  provisions  to  freeze  up." 

Aunt  Crossman  smiled  triumphantly,  while  she  glanced 
with  tender  pride  at  the  glowing  face  of  her  pretty  neice 
who,  the  center  of  an  admiring  group  of  girls,  was  retailing 
such  bits  of  their  snowed-in  life  as  excited  the  laughter 
rather  than  the  sympathy  of  her  merry  listeners. 

••We  had  good  raised  bread  and  cake,  with  nothing  but 
flour  and  honey  and  oil  to  make  them  oat  of.  Then  we  had 
stewed  peas,  picked  out  of  the  oats,  and  flavored  with  a 
ham  bone  ;  two  dinners  of  sausages  with  frozen  vegetables 
thawed  in  such  a  way  that  you'd  never  mistrust  they'd  been 
frozen  ;  and  tea  and  coffee.  With  my  lame  ankle  I  was  as 
helpless  as  a  haby,  so  Bessie  had  to  do  all  the  work  and 
plannin'  too,  and  I  honestly  believe  if  you  was  to  set  that 
girl  down  in  the  desert  of  Sahary,  with  only  a  bag  o'    meal 


120     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

and  a  pail  o'  water  she'd  manage  to  get  the  comforts  of  life 
out  of  'em." 

The  good  woman's  disgust  at  the  bareness  of  her  larder 
was  something  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe,  es- 
pecially at  the  lack  of  bread,  an  article  of  food  upon  which, 
and  with  reason,  she  had  always  prided  herself. 

"Why  didn't  you  make  some  raised  bread?"  she  asked 
sharply  of  the  cowed  and  embarrassed  Joanna. 

'•Because  there  wa'ant  no  yeast."  was  the  sullen  replv. 
••Didn't  you  see  that  bag  o'  yeast  in  the  pantry?" 
••Of  course  I  did.  But,"  defiantly,  "how  do  you  s'pose 
I  knew  how  to  make  bread  out  o'  them  things  ?  Give  me 
good  flour  and  a  cup  o'  good,  lively  yeast,  and  I'll  make  as 
good  a  batch  o'  bread  as  any  woman  in  the  United  States. 
But  I  ain't  never  u^ed  them  dry  yeast  cakes  and  I  don't  ever 
mean  to." 

"Joanna  does  make  excellent  bread  with  her  own  potato 
yeast."  interposed  Bessie  good  naturedly,  for  under  the  girl's 
defiant  air  she  saw  and  understood  the  feeling  of  intense 
mortification  from  which  she  was  smarting.  "But  we  never 
used  the  dry  yeast  so  she  has  had  no  experience  with  that." 
"Then  how  di&you  know?" 

Bessie  saw  the  look  of  wounded  pride  upon  Joanna's 
downcast  face  and  wished  the  question  unasked,  but  she 
only  said  carelessly  : 

••Oh,  I  guessed  at  it.  I  knew  that  the  yeast  plant  only 
needs  moisture  and  warmth  to  develop  it,  and  I  gave  it  both. 
It  was  that  or  nothing,  in  our  case,  and  it  was  necessity 
rather  than  any  wit  or  wisdom  of  mine  that  made  it  a  suc- 
cess." 

Aunt  Crossman  laid  back  in  her  easy  chair  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  turning  her  lame  ankle  a  little  more  toward  the  grate- 
ful warmth,  as  she  said  in  a  lower  tone  : 


A  COLLEGE  GIRL.  121 

••There's  two  loaves  of  your  bread  left,  Bessie,  and  that'll 
do  fer  dinner,  I  guess,  with  some  kind  of  a  pudding.  Then 
I  wish  you'd  see  about  the  meat  and  vegetables, — Joauna'll 
do  well  enough  with  you  for  a  head." 

And  as  the  bright,  willing  face  disappeared  behind  the 
kitchen  door.  Mrs.  Wyman  remarked  with  a  heartiness  that 
was  understood  and  appreciated  at  its  full  value  by  her  grat- 
ified listener  : 

•■You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  there,  Mis'  Grossman  ! 
Bessie's  got  a  head  and  hands  too,  and  Joanna's  got  the 
hands,  but  she  needs  somebody  else'  head  to  tell  them 
what  to  do." 

The  long  deferred  wedding  came  off  at  last,  and  the  fair 
bride  in  her  white  satin  and  veil  of  costly  lace— the  gift  of 
her  proud  and  happy  aunt — looked  as  dainty  and  sweet  as  if 
she  had  never  in  all  her  life  seen  a  cook  stove  in  any  other 
form  than  the  cuts  in  the  new-papers,  or  used  her  delicate 
hands  for  any  service  ruder  than  the  occasional  wielding  of 
a  feather  duster. 

Twenty-fours  hours  before  Mrs.  Wyman  would  have 
looked  stern  disapproval  on  the  bridal  finery  and  pro- 
nounced it  a  '•  wicked  extravagance  for  the  wife  of  a  man 
who  has  got  his  own  way  to  make  in  the  world." 

But  now  her  mood  had  strangely  softened,  and  as  she 
^ave  the  young  wife  her  first  motherly  kiss  she  whispered 
tenderly  : 

••I  must  confess  that  John's  eyes  were  sharper  than  mine 
when  he  picked  you  out.  But  I  don't  b'lieve  he's  a  bit 
prouder  of  his  wife  than  I  be  of  my  daughter." 

And  that  honest  admission,  though  clumsily  made,  was 
sweeter  music  in  Bessie's  ears  than  all  the  compliments  and 
congratulations  showered  upon  her  by  admiring  friends  and 
neighbors,  sweeter,  even,  than  Aunt  Grossman's  unconcealed 


122     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

gratification,  and  to  be  treasured  for  future  years  side  by 
side  with  her  old  father's  tremulous  blessing  : 

"God  bless  and  keep  my  dear  girl ! — even  as  all  her  life 
she  has  blessed  me  " 


The  Eatjle  ip  the  Sea-Bird's  Nest. 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  125 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST. 

It  was  not  the  regular  "visitor's  day"  at  the  Old  Ladies' 
Home,  but  the  matron  was  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and 
moreover  appreciated  the  importance  to  me,  as  a  spinner  of 
old-time  yarns,  of  the  chance  for  a  confidential  chat,' now 
and  then,  with  certain  dear  old  ladies  whose  worldly  hopes 
and  fears  and  trials  had  all  fallen  from  their  aged  shoulders 
into  the  dim  uncertainty  of  the  past,  from  which  memory 
might,  however,  in  answer  to  a  little  judicious  jogging,  bring 
up  the  shade  of  many  a  departed  joy  or  sorrow,  whose  tender 
pathos  never  failed  to  stir  my  heart  to  its  very  depths  with  a 
wondering  pity  for  those  other  sorely,  stricken  hearts,  that 
Time,  the  great  physician,  had  so  wonderfully  soothed  and 
quieted  at  last. 

I  was  not  in  the  mood  to-day  for  anything  wonderful  or 
exciting,  and  for  that  reason  I  passed  quietly  by  the  room 
within  which  I  well  knew  Madame  Le  Clarge  was  sitting, 
stately  and  upright  in  spite  of  her  eighty  odd  years,  her 
snow-white  hair  worn  in  puffs  about  her  thin,  delicately 
featured  face,  and  her  still  slender  and  deft  fingers  busy  with 
the  netting  that  was  to  her  at  once  an  occupation  and  a 
pleasure. 

There  were  times  when  I  would  have  been  delighted,  by  a 
few  artfully  timed  questions,  to  draw  out  some  incidents  of 
that  strange  and  eventful  history  that  even  time  could  not 
erase  from  the  memory — of  a  childhood  spent  among  the 
terrible  scenes  of  the  French  Revolution  ;  of  the  fair,  high 
born  dames  that  her   childish  eyes   had   seen   driven  in  the 


126     RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

executioner's  cart  on  their  way  to  the  guillotine,  their  hands 
bound  behind  their  backs,  and  their  pale  faces  distorted  with 
terror,  or  serene  with  conscious  innocence  and  the  hope  of  a 
glorious  immortality  ;  of  the  flight  from  that  mob- accursed 
land  ;  of  the  precious  gold  pieces,  the  only  remnant  of  a 
once  large  fortune,  quilted  into  a  silk  petticoat  that  the 
mother  wore  on  shipboard ;  of  the  arrival  in  a  strange 
country,  and  of  all  the  wonderful  vicissitudes  that  had  made 
her  life  a  continual  romance  from  her  cradle  upward.  All 
these  were  delightful  in  their  proper  time  and  place,  but 
to-day  T  felt  no  relish  for  them  or  anything  else  that  could 
jar  upon  the  lazy  monotony  of  my  mood  ;  even  old  Betty 
Skinner's  stories  of  pioneer  life,  to  which  I  had  so  often 
listened  in  rapt  wonderment,  the  "treed  bar,"  the  "Indian 
devil-scare,"  or  even  the  "tamed  wolf's  cub,"  failed  to  sat- 
isfy me  just  now. 

It  was  too  warm,,  too  quiet  and  dreamy  this  pleasant 
July  afternoon,  for  tales  of  blood  and  adventure  ;  it  was 
just  the  day  to  hear  about,  if  you  cannot  see,  the  lapping  of 
cool  waters  upon  a  smooth,  sandy  beach,  mingled  with  the 
faintest  whisper  of  a  sea-breeze  gossiping  with  the  nodding 
pine-tops,  and  kissing  the  cheeks  of  the  sleepy- eyed  prim- 
roses, and  beach-peas  that  are  too  lazy  to  so  much  as  rustle 
their  leaves  in  return.  And  that  is  why  I  sought,  in  pref- 
erence to  my  more  talkative  old  lady  friends,  the  society  of 
that  little,  ^quiet,  inefFusive  body,  whose  refined  but  some- 
what precise  ways,  added  to  the  fact  of  her  former  occupa- 
tion as  a  school-teacher,  had  procured  for  her  the  playful 
soubriquet  of  "Mistress  Minute-Hand,"  the  matron  often 
declaring  that  the  superannuated  little  teacher  measured  off 
her  days  into  just  so  many  minutes,  with  an  appointed  duty 
for  each  minute.  And  this  afternoon,  as  I  lapped  at  the  door 
of  her  room,  a  faint  rustling,    followed  by  the   creak   of  a 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  127 

refractory  bureau  drawer,  warned  me  that  its  methodical 
occupant  was  engaged  in  her  daily  task  of  examining  and 
arranging  her  ample  store  of  linen  in  the  separate  drawers, 
although  when  I  saw  the  slight  embarrassment  that  my  en- 
trance caused  her.  I  pretended  not  to  notice  the  unwonted 
confusion,  until,  with  an  abruptness  very  unusual  in  her, 
she  called  my  attention  to  an  article  that  she  had  evidently 
just  taken  from  its  wrappings  and  was  holding  up  for  my 
inspection. 

-'There.  Miss  Anne,  is  a  real  Indian  shawl:  the  colors 
are  as  bright  and  fresh  to-day  as  when  I  first  saw  it,  nearly 
fifty  years  ago." 

I  looked  at  the  beautiful  fabric  with  almost  as  much  as- 
tonishment as  admiration.  Here,  in  the  possession  of  one 
of  the  inmates  of  a  public  charitable  institution,  was  one  of 
the  most  elegant  shawls  that  I  had  ever  looked  upon,  a  gar- 
ment fit  for  a  queen,  and  for  which  many  a  wealthy  dame 
would  have  been  glad  to  pay  a  small  fortune. 

I  looked  from  the  shawl  to  its  owner  in  dumb  amazement, 
and  then  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  the  tearful  eye  and 
tremulous  lip  with  which  she  contemplated  the  gorgeous 
folds,  that,  lighted  by  some  stray  scraps  of  sunshine  which 
stole  through  the  half-opened  blind,  seemed  strangely  out  of 
place  in  the  comfortable  but  soberly  furnished  room. 

"I  never  wore  it  in  my  life,"  she  said,  tenderly  refolding 
the  costlv  fabric,  "and  I  suppose  I  might  have  sold  it  for 
enough  to  have  secured  me  from  dependence  in  my  old  age  ; 
but,  ;,and  her  voice  grew  husky  with  emotion,  "  I  couldn't 
bear  to  part  with  it — my  eagle  sent  it  to  me." 

I  suppose  I  looked  as  I  felt,  completely  mystified,  for  she 
smiled  with  an  archness  that  I  had  never  before  seen  in  her, 
and  that  changed  the  whole   expression  of  her  face  as  com- 


128     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

pletely  as  a  mask  could  have  done  ;  and  then,  carefully  re- 
placing the  shawl  in  its  drawer,  she  said  gently  : 

"I  will  tell  you  about  this  shawl  if  it  won't  be  too  tire- 
some for  you  to  listen  to  an  old  woman's  story  about  herself, 
and  not  much  of  a  story  either,  for  I  don't  know  anything 
about  'condensing'  as  you  story  writers  call  it.  What  I 
have  to  tell  I  must  tell  in  my  own  rambling,  roundabout 
fashion." 

Of  course  I  was  only  too  glad  to  listen,  and  she  went  on 
in  her  soft,  lady-like  voice,  that  was  in  itself  a  pleasure  to 
listen  to. 

"I  was  left  an  orphan  at  a  very  early  age  ;  so  early  that 
I  could  not  even  remember  my  mother's  kisses,  although  I 
did  have  a  faint,  shadowy  recollection  of  being  lifted  up  to 
look  at  a  still,  white  face,  beneath  a  glass  coffin-lid,  and  of 
pitving  voices  whispering  to  me  to  '•take  a  last  look  at  my 
poor  mother,'  while  a  bustling,  sharp-eyed  gentleman,  with 
crape  on  his  hat,  informed  me  that  he  was  my  guardian, 
and  that  his  house  was  henceforth  to  be  my  home. 

The  inmates  of  that  'home'  consisted  of  himself  and  his 
wife,  a  melancholy,  dissatisfied-looking  lady,  who  seemed 
always  suffering  from  an  attack  of  neuralgia  if  a  chair  was 
moved  incautiously,  or  the  hearth-rug  in  the  least  dis- 
arranged, with  an  elderly  servant-maid  whose  principal 
characteristics,  as  I  remember  her,  seemed  to  be  an  inordi- 
nate love  of  her  own  way,  and  an  equally  inordinate  hatred 
of  all  young  creatures,  children  especially.  I  can  remem- 
ber to  this  day  the  dread  with  which  she  inspired  me  ;  and 
wThen  Mrs.  Walters  would  send  me  to  the  kitchen  on  some 
errand  my  heart  would  beat  so  with  terror  at  the  sight  of 
her  scowling,  ugly  face,  that  it  seemed  sometimes  as  if  I 
should  suffocate,  and  1  have  lain  awake  many  a  night  list- 
ening to  her  heavy  breathing  and  mutterings  in  her  sleep  (I 


THE  EAGLE  IX  THE   SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  129 

slept  in  the  room  adjoining  hers,   that,   as  Mrs.  Walters' 
said,  I  might  have  somebody  to  'see  to  me'  in  case  of  sick- 
ness), and  trembling  like  a  leaf  if  they   ceased  for  a  mo- 
ment, expecting  to  hear  her  heavy  step  by  my  bedside  and 
her  harsh  voice  calling  out  : 

'Arrah,  now  !  ye  imp  o'  Satan  !   an'  what  are  ye  wakin' 
for  at  this  time  o'  night  ?' 

My  guardian,  who  had  his  own  ideas  on  education,  as  on 
most  other  matters,  was  decidedly  opposed  to  public  schools, 
for  children  of  a  tender  age  especially  ;  and  so  a  day  gov- 
erness was  procured  for  me,  a  quiet,  sedate  girl,  who  con- 
sidered her  duties  performed  wrhen  she  had  heard  me  repeat, 
with  scrupulous  exactness,  the  lessons  fur  the  day,  and  had 
portioned    out  those  for  the   morrow,    with   the   inevitable 

remark  : 

'I  shall  expect  you  to  have  them  perfect,  Miss  Mildred, 
when  I  come  to-morrow.' 

Never  a  word  of  commendation  or  encouragement,  much 
less  any  expression  of  sympathy  or  interest  in  my  childish 
pursuits  and  pleasures.  Although,  as  far  as  these  were 
concerned,  it  would  have  puzzled  a  much  more  observant 
person  than  my  prim  little  governess  to  find  them  out. 

Mrs.  Walters  had  never  been  able  to  endure  the  'litter' 
of  children's  playthings  about  the  house,  and  when,  on  one 
long-remembered  Christmas,  my  guardian  surprised  and 
delighted  me  with  a  beautiful  wax  doll,  she  put  it  carefully 
away  in  a  drawer,  wrapped  in  tissue  paper,  and  only  when 
I  had  been  a  particularly  good  girl-that  is,  when  I  hadn't 
spoken  louder  than  a  whisper,  or  walked  across  the  floor 
more  heavily  than  her  favorite  pussy ,  for  a  whole  day-was 
I  allowed,  as  a  great  treat,  a  peep  at  the  rosy  cheeks  and 
staring   blue  eyes   of  my  imprisoned   treasure  ;  although  I 


130     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

was   allowed  under  no   consideration   to   touch,  much  less 
handle  or  play  with  it. 

The  house  of  Mr.  Walters  had  a  handsome  flower  garden 
in  front,  with  walks  as  smooth  and  clean  as  a  floor,  and 
curiously  formed  beds  filled  with  rare  and  beautiful  plants, 
too  rare  and  beautiful  for  childish  fingers  to  meddle  with, 
so  I  was  obliged  to  content  myself  with  the  buttercups 
and  dandelions  that  grew  in  the  little  back  yard,  and  espec- 
ially the  burdock  burs  that  were  to  me  a  never- failing  source 
of  quiet,  homely  amusement.  How  I  delighted  to  make 
them  into  baskets,  tables  and  chairs,  which,  with  a  clothes- 
pin in  dandelion  curls  for  the  mistress,  I  converted  into  a 
very  satisfactory  baby-house.  Once  a  broken- winged 
chicken  strayed  into  the  enclosure,  and  for  a  couple  of  days 
I  was  supremely  happy  in  petting  and  doctoring  the  helpless 
little  thing ;  but  Bridget  soon  spied  it  out  and  wrung  its 
neck,  much  to  my  grief  and  horror,  for  the  poor  creature 
had  been  to  me  more  of  a  friend  and  companion  than  I  had 
ever  known  in  all  those  lonely,  loveless  days,  of  which  the 
remembrance,  even  now,  makes  me  shiver  and  shrink  into 
myself  like  same  sensitive  plant  at  a  rough  or  careless 
touch. 

Having  no  human  companionship,  I  naturally,  like  all 
imaginative  children,  made  for  myself  friends  and  familiars 
out  of  the  inanimate  objects  about  me.  I  rechristened  the 
different  articles  of  furniture  in  my  room  :  the  bureau  was 
'Grandmother  Knobby,'  and  was  my  special  friend  and 
confident  in  all  my  childish  troubles  ;  a  slender,  old-fash- 
ioned washstand  was  the  fashionable  'Mrs.  Bowles,'  and  to 
her  I  described  the  dress  of  any  of  Mrs.  Walters'  genteel 
callers  that  I  happened  to  see,  and  confided  to  her  my  opin- 
ion   of  their  respective   charms  ;  the    chairs   were  visitors, 


the  eagle  ix  the  sea-bird's  nest,  131 

servants  or  children,  just  as  the  fancy  of  the  moment 
prompted  :  and  I  can  remember  how  I  delighted  to  lie  awake 
on  moonlight  nights,  talking  with  my  imaginary  friends, 
and  weaving  a  host  of  foolish  and  pleasant  conceits,  suited 
to  my  childish  capacity,  until  the  lonely  little  room  would 
be  all  alive  with  a  crowd  of  merry,  chatty  comrades,  who 
understood  my  thoughts  just  as  well  as  if  they  had  been 
spokeu,  and  to  whose  imaginary  chatter  I  would  listen  with 
a  heart  full  of  restful  satisfaction. 

Of  course,  this  life  of  constant  repression  and  morbid 
fancies  was  injurious  to  me  physically  as  well  as  mentally, 
and  one  pleasant  midsummer  morning  my  guardian  awoke 
all  at  once  to  a  consciousness  of  my  pale  cheeks  and  thin, 
stooping  figure,  and  announced  in  his  dictatorial  way.  that 
'something  must  be  done  for  me  immediately.'  What  that 
'something'  was  I  learned  a  few  days  later,  when,  on  enter- 
ing my  room  I  found  Bridget  busily  packing  my  trunk,  and 
when  I  timidly  ventured  some  inquiries,  I  was  told,  with  a 
grim  humor  that  betrayed  her  own  hearty  concurrence  in 
the  scheme,  that  'the  masther  was  goin'  to  take  me  to  the 
sayshore  to  put  me  in  pickle  an'  see  if  I'd  kape  a  few  years 
longer.' 

That  first  view  of  the  broad,  blue,  mighty  ocean  !  I  can 
remember,  even  now — and  the  remembrance  makes  my  old 
heart  bound  again  with  something  of  the  freshness  and  de- 
light of  youth — how  its  shining  surface,  dotted  with  white- 
winged  vessels,  and  sparkling  as  if  every  wave  had  a  jewel 
in  his  cap,  seemed  to  me  to  stretch  so  far,  far  away  into 
immensity,  that  I  actually  caught  my  breath  in  a  sort  of 
rapturous  terror  at  its  grandeur  and  sublimity. 

Half  way  up  the  pine-dotted  cliff  that  overhung  the 
shore,  nestled  a  small,  unpretending,  but  cosy  cottage,  oc- 
cupied by   a   fisherman's  family,    and  it   was   here,    to  my 


132     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

silent  but  intense  delight,  that  Mr.  Walters  pointed  as  my 
temporary  home. 

'Between  the  out-of-door  exercise  and  the  sea  air  and 
bathing,'  he  said  briskly,  'it  will  be  very  strange  if  you  fail 
to  come  back  to  us  as  stout  and  ruddy  as  anybody  need  be.' 
And  giving  me  in  charge  to  the  fisherman's  wife,  he  hurried 
off,  evidently  relieved  to  feel  that  I  was  off  his  hands  for 
the  next  three  months  at  least.  If  my  first  feeling  was  one 
of  strangerhood,  the  hearty  cordiality  of  my  hostess'  greet- 
ing soon  put  me  at  my  ease,  and  almost  before  I  knew  it  I 
was  frolicking  with  baby  Jack,  a  plump,  black-eyed  little 
rogue,  who  'took  to  me,'  as  his  mother  smilingly  declared, 
'at  first  sight,'  kneading  my  thin  cheeks  with  his  dimpled 
fists,  and  putting  up  his  pretty  pink  toes  for  me  to  play  'This 
little  pig  went  to  market'  with. 

There  were  two  older  children,  a  frank-faced,  manly 
looking  boy,  not  far  from  my  own  age,  and  Molly,  a  rosy, 
buxom  little  maiden,  a  few  years  younger  ;  these,  with  their 
young  mother,  constituted  the  family  at  present,  as  the 
father  was  away  on  a  three  months'  cruise. 

I  believe  nothing  in  my  life  had  ever  tasted  so  good  to  me 
as  that  first  supper  of  brown  bread  and  milk,  served  in 
bowls  of  common  crockery  with  pewter  spoons,  and  I 
looked  up  in  unfeigned  astonishment  as  Mrs.  Mack  began 
to  apologize  for  her  plain  fare. 

'We  live  rough,'  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  showed  all 
her  pretty,  white  teeth,  'but  your  guardian  knew  that  be- 
fore he  brought  you  here,  and  he  said  it  was  just  what  you 
needed  after  living  on  dainties  so  long.' 

Shy  as  I  was  I  actually  laughed  outright.  What  greater 
dainty  could  any  one  desire  than  this  same  bowl  of  bread 
and  milk,  eaten  within  the  sound  of  the  pleasant,  sleepy 
murmur  of  the  incoming  tide,  and  flavored  with  the  spicy 


THE  EAGLE  EN  THE  SEA-BIED's  NEST.  133 

odors  that  the  pine  trees  flung  down  upon  us.  I  said  so.  in 
my  childish  way,  and  my  hostess  nodded  a  good-natured 
approval  of  my  powers  of  adaptation  as  she  evidently  un- 
derstood it. 

At  the  end  of  a  month  I  don't  believe  that  even  Mr. 
Walters  himself  would  have  recognized  in  the  sunburnt, 
glad-faced  child, whose  laugh  rang  out  every  whit  as  merrily 
as  that  of  her  young  companions,  his  pale,  silent  little 
charge.  For  the  first  time  since  my  remembrance  I  was 
free — free  to  follow  the  natural  impulses  of  my  age  and 
nature  :  and  the  little  Macks  recounted  each  day,  with 
proud  satisfaction,  stories  of  my  exploits  in  climbing  and 
fishing,  as  well  as  rowing,  for  under  Rob's  tuition  I  soon 
learned  to  handle  an  oar  as  skillfully  as  any  shore-bred 
maiden  could  have  done  ;  while  with  his  guidance  and  help 
I  explored  the  rocky  cliffs,  and  startled  the  sea-birds  from 
their  nests  with  our  wild  whoops  of  triumphant  delight. 

Barefooted  like  my  playmates,  I  searched  among  the  rocks 
and  seaweed  that  the  receding  tide  had  left  wet  and  bare 
from  their  salt  sea  bath,  for  the  little  holes  in  the  sand, 
•clams*  windows'  we  called  them,  that  betokened  the  pres- 
ence of  those  tempting  bivalves  ;  and  there  was  a  delightful 
excitement  in  digging  for  the  hidden  treasures,  scooping 
them  out  from  beneath  some  innocent  looking  rock  or  cluster 
of  tangled  kelp,  laughing  when  a  tiny  spray  struck  us  full 
in  the  face,  and  tugging  persistently  at  something  that  when 
brought  to  light  was  often  nothing  but  a  smooth  stone,  or 
more  provoking  still,  an  ugly,  useless  'mud  clam.' 

Almost  every  cloudy  day  saw  us  out  fishing  in  the  tiny 
boat  that  Rob  had  bought  himself,  as  he  proudly  informed 
me,  by  selling  fish,  doing  odd  jobs  for  the  farmers,  and 
serving  as  cook  on  board  one  of  the  little  fishing-smacks 
during  a  whole  season  the  year  before  ;  and  Mrs.  Mack's 


134     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

table  was  kept  well  supplied  by  our  united  labors  with  plenty 
of  fish,  while  for  dessert  we  had  abundance  of  delicious 
wild  strawberries  that  we  had  picked  in  our  rambles  farther 
inland. 

To  a  heart  so  long  shut  out  from  the  love  and  sympathy 
of  its  kind,  this  free  yet  tenderly  sympathetic  home  life  was 
like  sunshine  to  a  pinched  and  starved  flower,  strengthening, 
beautifying,  and  blessing  it  in  every  leaf  and  petal.  I  shall 
never  forget  how,  on  one  occasion,  after  straying  farther 
than  usual,  I  came  home  at  night  footsore  and  heated,  too 
tired  even  to  share  the  supper  o  f  my  more  hardy  playfellows, 
and  the  mother  insisted,  in  spite  of  a  few  shame -faced  re- 
monstrances on  my  part,  in  rocking  me  to  sleep  in  her  own 
arms,  crooning,  meanwhile,  a  quaint,  old  sea-ballad,  whose 
echoes  ring  in  my  ears  to-day  ;  and  I  can  almost  feel  the 
clasp  of  her  strong,  warm  arm  about  my  shoulders,  and  see 
the  look  of  tender  pity  upon  her  motherly  face,  as  she  said 
softly,  as  if  in  excuse  to  herself  for  giving  baby  Jack's 
rightful  place  to  a  stranger  :  'Poor  little  thing  !  she's  fairly 
tuckered  out,  and  no  wonder,  either,  such  a  weakly  crea- 
ture as  she  is.' 

More  than  once  she  mended,  with  far  more  good  will 
than  skill,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  big  rents  that  the  sharp- 
pointed  rocks  and  brambles  had  made  in  my  garments,  and 
at  Rob's  solicitation,  bestowed  upon  me  an  old,  broad- 
brimmed  'Panama'  that  had  been  thrown  aside  by  her  hus- 
band, to  save  my  own  dantily  beribboned  'Leghorn'  from 
the  certain  destruction  that  daily  contact  with  wind  and 
weather  would  be  sure  to  bring-. 

It  was  the  first  time,  I  remember,  that  I  wore  the  hat, 
that  Rob  imparted  to  me  that  wonderful  secret  of  the  eagle's 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  XE>T.  135 

'Milly  !'  lie  called  in  a  mysterious  tone,  one  morning,  as 
I  sat  upon  a  great  stone  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliff,  watch- 
ing the  tide  creeping  up,  inch  by  inch,  laughing  and  spark- 
ling as  if  in  great  glee,  yet  all  the  time  encroaching  more 
and  more  u*pon  the  still  unwet  sands,  *if  you'll  come  with 
me  I'll  show  you  the  oddest  sight  that  you've  ever  seen  yet/ 

I  started  to  my  feet,  but  paused  a  moment  to  look  toward 
Molly  who  was  paddling  in  the  water  a  little  way  off. 

'No,  no  !'  and  Rob  nodded  and  frowned  emphatically.  *I 
don't  want  her — come  alone.'     And  I  obeyed. 

The  cliff  was  not  a  very  high  one,  but  the  sun  was  hot 
and  the  path  steep,  so  that  Rob  was  obliged  to  lend  me  a 
helping  hand  to  reach  the  top,  where,  after  a  moment's  rest, 
he  led  me  cautiously  down  a  curiously  winding  path,  a  sort 
of  natural  stairway  upon  the  face  of  the  rock,  to  a  broad 
shelf  where  a  few  evergreens  had  found  room  for  their  roots 
in  the  broad  crevices  of  the  rock  ;  and  there,  nestled  snugly 
within  their  shade,  was  a  large,  roughly  fashioned  nest  of 
sticks  and  twigs,  from  which  the  unwieldly  heads  and 
scraggy  necks  of  several  half-fledged  sea-birds  were  thrust 
out  with  an  impatient,  hungry  cry,  that  was  almost  human 
in  its  fretfulness. 

'They  don't  mind  me,'  whispered  Rob,  advancing  cau- 
tiously to  the  nest  and  dropping  a  fat  clam  into  each  gaping 
throat  before  he  beckoned  me  to  his  side. 

1  What  great  creatures  they  are  !'  I  exclaimed,  with  more 
of  wonder  than  admiration,  'and  so  awkward  and  homely  ! 
But — '  I  paused  abruptly  as  a  head  rose  slowly  and  majes- 
tically above  those  of  the  clamorous  group,  and  a  pair  of 
tierce,  fiery  eyes  looked  out  defiantly  at  us,  while  in  a  note 
higher  and  stronger  than  the  peevish  clamor  of  its  mates,  it 
sent  forth  a  sharp,  imperative  cry  tor  food. 


138     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

the  extremity  of  my  grief  and  dread,  I  actually  dared  to 
beg  the  privilege  of  a  longer  stay  with  the  only  beings  who 
had  ever  shown  any  love  or  teuderness  for  me  in  my  deso- 
late orphanage.  But  Mr.  Walters'  imperturbable  'Couldn't 
possibly  let  you  stay  any  longer  ;  it's  high  time  you  were  at 
school,  with  other  girls  of  your  age,'  silenced  me  most 
effectually,  and  it  was  with  the  bitterest  tears  that  I  had 
ever  yet  shed  that  I  bade  the  last  farewell  to  the  only  spot 
on  earth  where  I  had  known  an  hour's  happiness,  and  pre- 
pared to  go  back  to  my  old  life  of  lonely,  loveless  monotony. 

How  I  clung  about  the  neck  of  dear  'Mammy  Margy,' 
as,  in  playful  imitation  of  her  own  children,  I  had  learned 
to  call  her,  sobbing  the  good-bye  that  it  almost  broke  my 
heart  to  speak  ;  while  baby  Jack  clung  weeping  to  my 
knees,  and  Molly,  with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  chubby 
cheeks,  declared  that  'Milly  shouldn't  go  away!'  a  motion 
that  Rob,  in  his  manly  fashion,  eagerly  seconded. 

'Don't  take  her  away  just  yet,  sir,'  he  said  earnestly,  and 
with  a  suspicious  hoarseness  in  his  voice  that  I  well  under- 
stood. 'It'll  be  quite  warm  here  for  five  or  six  weeks  longer, 
and  it'll  do  her  ever  so  much  good,  I  know.' 

Mr.  Walters  looked  rather  amused  and  a  good  deal  sur- 
prised. 'You  seem  to  be  quite  a  favorite  here,'  he  said, 
with,  as  I  fancied,  a  half-contemptuous  look  at  my  tear- 
swollen  face  ;  then  to  Rob  :  'I  don't  think  it  best  for  her  to 
stay  longer,  now.   Perhaps,  sometime,  she  can  come  again.' 

And  with  this  half- promise  we  were  forced  to  be  content ; 
and  as  I  hung  about  Molly's  neck  at  parting,  a  small  gold 
piece,  my  only  treasure,  I  repeated  with  all  the  little  courage 
that  I  could  muster,  the  hopeful  prophecy  :  'I  will  come 
again  just  as  sure  as  I  live. ' 

But  alas  for  all  our  hopeful  anticipations  of  a  speedy 
reunion  !     Mrs.  Walters'  health  had  failed  so  rapidly  in  my 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  139 

absence  that  she  declared  herself  unequal  to  the  annoyance 
of  'having  a  child  about  the  house'  any  longer,  so  I  was 
packed  away  to  a  boarding-school  where  I  remained  for  the 
next  five  years,  spending  my  vacations  at  my  guardian's, 
where  everything  seemed  more  sombre  and  stagnant  than 
ever  in  contrast  with  the  cheerful  bustle  and  sociability  of 
school  life,  which,  in  my  shy  way,  I  had  thoroughly  en- 
joyed from  the  first. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  my  guardian  died,  and  an  ex- 
amination of  his  affairs  disclosed  the  startling  fact  that 
instead  of  being  the  heiress  to  a  moderate  competency,  as  I 
had  supposed,  I  was  literally  penniless,  all  my  property 
having  been  swallowed  up  in  some  imprudent  speculations 
in  which  Mr.  Walters  had  been  concerned. 

In  this  strait  I  was  only  too  thankful  to  accept  a  position 
as  teacher  in  the  establishment  where  I  had  been  so  long  a 
a  pupil,  and  for  the  next  six  years  my  life  timed  itself  to 
the  changeless  routine  of  the  school-room,  with  little  oppor- 
tunity, and  at  length  with  little  desire  for  change  ;  but  as 
the  sixth  summer  vacation  approached,  my  friend,  the 
principal,  took  occasion  to  remind  me  with  affectionate 
earnestness,  that  for  my  health's  sake  I  must  seek  some 
recreation.  'A  trip  to  the  mountains,  or  a  few  weeks  at  the 
sea-side  would  make  a  new  creature  of  you.' 

Suddenly  from  out  the  dim  and  sombre  past  flashed  a 
picture  that  sent  the  calm,  even  current  in  my  veins  dancing 
with  a  wild,  unwonted  thrill  of  delightful  excitement,  but 
the  lady  principal  only  heard  the  quietly  spoken  words,  'I 
believe  I  will  take  your  advice  and  try  a  few  weeks  at  the 
sea-side,'  and  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  my  trunks  were 
packed  and  I  had  started  on  my  search  for  rest,  and — I 
laughed  at  myself  for  the  fancy,  but  the  faces  of  my  old 
friends  would  rise  up   before  me  just  as  I  saw  them  last, 


138     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

the  extremity  of  my  grief  and  dread,  I  actually  dared  to 
beg  the  privilege  of  a  longer  stay  with  the  only  beings  who 
had  ever  shown  any  love  or  tenderness  for  me  in  my  deso- 
late orphanage.  But  Mr.  Walters'  imperturbable  'Couldn't 
possibly  let  you  stay  any  longer  ;  it's  high  time  you  were  at 
school,  with  other  girls  of  your  age.'  silenced  me  most 
effectually,  and  it  was  with  the  bitterest  tears  that  I  had 
ever  yet  shed  that  I  bade  the  last  farewell  to  the  only  spot 
on  earth  where  I  had  known  an  hour's  happiness,  and  pre- 
pared to  go  back  to  my  old  life  of  lonely,  loveless  monotony. 
How  I  clung  about  the  neck  of  dear  'Mammy  Margy,' 
as,  in  playful  imitation  of  her  own  children,  I  had  learned 
to  call  her,  sobbing  the  good-bye  that  it  almost  broke  my 
heart  to  speak  ;  while  baby  Jack  clung  weeping  to  my 
knees,  and  Molly,  with  the  tears  streaming  down  her  chubby 
cheeks,  declared  that  'Milly  shouldn't  go  away  !'  a  motion 
that  Rob,  in  his  manly  fashion,  eagerly  seconded. 

'Don't  take  her  away  just  yet,  sir,'  he  said  earnestly,  and 
with  a  suspicious  hoarseness  in  his  voice  that  I  well  under- 
stood. 'It'll  be  quite  warm  here  for  five  or  six  weeks  longer, 
and  it'll  do  her  ever  so  much  good,  I  know.' 

Mr.  Walters  looked  rather  amused  and  a  good  deal  sur- 
prised. 'You  seem  to  be  quite  a  favorite  here,'  he  said, 
with,  as  I  fancied,  a  half-contemptuous  look  at  my  tear- 
swollen  face  :  then  to  Rob  :  'I  don't  think  it  best  for  her  to 
stay  longer,  now.  Perhaps,  sometime,  she  can  come  again.' 
And  with  this  half- promise  we  were  forced  to  be  content ; 
and  as  I  hung  about  Molly's  neck  at  parting,  a  small  gold 
piece,  my  only  treasure,  I  repeated  with  all  the  little  courage 
that  I  could  muster,  the  hopeful  prophecy  :  'I  will  come 
again  just  as  sure  as  I  live.' 

But  alas  for  all  our  hopeful  anticipations  of  a  speedy 
reunion  !     Mrs.  Walters'  health  had  failed  so  rapidly  in  my 


THE  EAGLE  EN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  139 

absence  that  she  declared  herself  unequal  to  the  annoyance 
of  'having  a  child  about  the  house'  any  longer,  so  I  was 
packed  away  to  a  boarding-school  where  I  remained  for  the 
next  five  years,  spending  my  vacations  at  my  guardian's, 
where  everything  seemed  more  sombre  and  stagnant  than 
ever  in  contrast  with  the  cheerful  bustle  and  sociability  of 
school  life,  which,  in  my  shy  way,  I  had  thoroughly  en- 
joyed from  the  first. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  my  guardian  died,  and  an  ex- 
amination of  his  affairs  disclosed  the  startling  fact  that 
instead  of  being  the  heiress  to  a  moderate  competency,  as  I 
had  supposed,  I  was  literally  penniless,  all  my  property 
having  been  swallowed  up  in  some  imprudent  speculations 
in  which  Mr.  Walters  had  been  concerned. 

In  this  strait  I  was  only  too  thankful  to  accept  a  position 
as  teacher  in  the  establishment  where  I  had  been  so  long  a 
a  pupil,  and  for  the  next  six  years  my  life  timed  itself  to 
the  changeless  routine  of  the  school-room,  with  little  oppor- 
tunity, and  at  length  with  little  desire  for  change  ;  but  as 
the  sixth  summer  vacation  approached,  my  friend,  the 
principal,  took  occasion  to  remind  me  with  affectionate 
earnestness,  that  for  my  health's  sake  I  must  seek  some 
recreation.  'A  trip  to  the  mountains,  or  a  few  weeks  at  the 
sea-side  would  make  a  new  creature  of  you.' 

Suddenly  from  out  the  dim  and  sombre  past  flashed  a 
picture  that  sent  the  calm,  even  current  in  my  veins  dancing 
with  a  wild,  unwonted  thrill  of  delightful  excitement,  but 
the  lady  principal  only  heard  the  quietly  spoken  words,  'I 
believe  I  will  take  your  advice  and  try  a  few  weeks  at  the 
sea-side,'  and  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  my  trunks  were 
packed  and  I  had  started  on  my  search  for  rest,  and — I 
laughed  at  myself  for  the  fancy,  but  the  faces  of  my  old 
friends  would  rise  up   before  me  just  as  I  saw  them  last, 


140     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

tender  and  tearful,  and  I  ivotild  not  believe  in  any  possi- 
bility of  death  or  change. 

'Do  you  know  of  a  family  living  here  named  Mack?'  was 
my  first  question  to  the  landlady  of  the  hotel  on  the  morn- 
ing after  my  arrival.  The  little  hamlet  had  grown  to  a 
thriving  village  since  I  saw  it  last,  and  the  large,  rinely 
built  hotel  was  already  well  filled  with  summer  visitors. 

The  good  woman  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  with  a 
doubtful  air  said,  'We've  lived  here  almost  two  years,  but  I 
don't  remember  having  heard  of  anybody  by  that  name.' 

'The  father  was  a  fisherman,  Ben  Mack  I  believe  they 
called  him,  and  there  were  three  children,  two  boys  and  a 
girl.  They  lived  in  a  little,  rough-built  cottage,  half  way 
down  the  cliff,  north  of  Beaker's  Peak.' 

'I  don't  know  any  family  that  answers  to  the  description  ; 
but,  perhaps,'  brightening  up  with  a  new  idea,  'it  may  be 
that  the  Mac  is  only  a  part  of  the  name.  There  are  plenty 
of  Macs  about  here,  the  Laughlin's  and  the  MacDougal's 
and  the  MacLennan's, — it  might  be  one  of  them,  but  they 
are  none  of  them  fishermen.' 

I  shook  my  head  dejectedly.  It  was  evident  that  I  could 
get  no  information  from  this  source,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  a  tour  of  inspection,  by  myself,  that  very  day. 

Everything  about  the  cliff  and  shore  was  so  vividly  fresh 
in  my  mind  that  I  felt  sure  I  should  have  no  difficulty  in 
tracing  out  the  old  landmarks,  and  finding  at  least  the  rocks 
and  sands  that  had  been  to  me  like  dear,  familiar  friends 
in  those  other  days. 

But  I  was  astonished  and  not  a  little  disappointed,  for 
either  my  memory  was  at  fault,  or  the  many  changes  that 
had  taken  place  in  these  intervening  years  puzzled  and 
baffled  me  at  every  turn,  putting  a  new  two-story  house  with 
green  blinds  in  the  very  spot  where  a  clump  of  hemlocks 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  141 

should  have  been,  and  a  broad  field  of  Indian  corn  where 
the  wild  raspberry  vines  should  have  marked  the  spot  where 
we  gathered  our  baskets  full  of  the  lucious  fruit ;  while  even 
the  steep  cliffs  that  I  had  once  looked  upon  with  childish 
wonder,  seemed,  somehow,  to  have  dwindled  in  height  and 
grandeur,  and  the  scene  of  many  a  dariug  climbing  exploit 
was,  to  my  mature  vision,  scarcely  more,  after  all,  than  a 
huckleberry  hill. 

I  was  walking  slowly  along,  trying  in  vain  to  find  some 
familiar  feature  in  the  scene  about  me,  when  1  noticed,  all 
at  once,  that  the  sunshine  had  vanished  and  a  great  black 
cloud  was  just  showing  its  scowling  face  over  the  top  of 
Beaker's  Peak,  warning  me  that  a  heavy  shower  was  close 
at  haud  ;  and  the  next  moment  my  watchful  eyes  caught 
sight  of  a  narrow  footpath  that  wound  across  the  face  of 
the  cliff,  and  without  stoppiug  to  wonder  or  rejoice,  I  fairly 
ran  down  the  little  pathway  whose  every  winding  was  per- 
fectly familiar  to  me  ;  for  here,  at  last,  I  had  found  the 
clue  that  I  had  been  so  anxiously  seeking;  and  when,  in 
one  of  the  turnings.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  roof  of  the 
cottage  below,  I  longed  to  shout  aloud  in  my  glad  excite- 
ment. 

There  it  stood,  in  the  exact  spot  where  it  had  stood 
eleven  years  before,  with  the  same  background  of  shadowy 
evergreens,  the  same  grand  outlook  from  its  sunny  doorway. 
Only  the  house  itself  was  changed.  Instead  of  the  roughly 
built,  unpretending,  yet  cosy  little  dwelling  that  had  shelt- 
ered the  fisherman's  treasures  beneath  its  humble  roof,  ap- 
peared a  commodious,  modern-built  cottage,  whose  orna- 
mental finish  and  coat  of  gay,  straw-colored  paint,  gave  it 
a  jaunty  and  rather  exclusive  air  that  struck  upon  me  with 
almost  as  much  of  a  chill  as  did  the  fast-falling  raindrops 


142     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

that  were  already  drenching  my  light  clothing  as  I  stood  on 
the  steps  waiting  an  answer  to  my  ring. 

A  young  lady  opened  the  door  and  with  cool  civility  in- 
vited me  to  enter  ;  and  as  I  followed  her  into  a  parlor  over- 
crowded with  expensive  but  ill  selected  and  arranged  furni- 
ture, I  tried  in  vain  to  find  in  the  curled  and  crimped  and 
frizzled  head,  and  flounced  and  ruffled  figure,  some  trace  of 
the  rough  and  rosy  little  Molly  of  other  days  :  for  that  it 
was  Molly,  in  spite  of  her  metamorphosis,  I  never  doubted, 
although  the  laughing  eyes  had  lost  their  innocent,  un- 
suspicious look,  and  the  rosy  mouth  had  acquired  a  some- 
what supercilious  curve  that  had  once  been  a  stranger  to  it. 

I  felt  chilled  and  disappointed  ;  while  seeing  that  I  was 
unrecognized,  I  excused  my  intrusion  on  account  of  the 
sudden  shower,  and  waited  with  a  beating  heart  the  appear- 
ance of  the  mistress  of  the  house,  who  would,  I  fully 
believed,  recognize  and  welcome  me.  But  when  I  saw  the 
changed  and  hardened  face,  fresh  and  comely  still,  but  with 
all  the  old-time  motherliness  faded  out  of  it,  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  speak  of  those  other  days,  but  returned  her  formal 
salutation  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  while  with  my  heart 
in  a  perfect  tumult  of  hope  and  fear,  I  sat  by  the  window 
watching  the  fast-falling  rain,  and  trying  with  all  my  might 
to  keep  back  the  bitter  tears  that  threatened  to  betray  me. 
We  went  over  the  few  commonplaces  that  strangers  con- 
sider essential  to  civility,  and  then,  with  my  heart  in  my 
throat,  I  said  clumsily — for  I  must  speak  or  cry — 'Did 
you,  some  years  ago.  have  a  little  girl  from  B spend- 
ing the  summer  with  you  ?' 

Mrs.  Mack  looked  significantly  at  her  daughter  as  she 
asked  coldly,  'Do  you  mean  a  'Grey'  girl?  'Mildred 
Grey,'  wasn't  it,  Mary?' 

Mary  nodded  an  indifferent  assent. 


THE  EAGLE    IN    THE    SEA-E-IRlVs    NEST.  143 

•I  remember  her  particularly/  went  on  the  lady,  with 
an  anpleasant  sharpness  in  her  tones,  'because  her  guard- 
ian played  us  such  a  mean  trick,  getting  us  to  keep  her  a 
whole  summer  and  never  paying  us  a  cent  for  her  board. 
She  was  a  sickly  little  thing,  and  I  was  young  and  soft- 
hearted in  those  days,  .so  I  was  just  fool  enough  to  take  her 
right  in  with  my  own  children,  and  wait  upon  her  by 
inches,  mending  her  clothes  and  doing  everything  for  her 
that  her  own  mother  could  have  done,  and  never  getting  a 
cent  for  it  after  all.' 

•You  forget  my  dollar,  mother.'  laughed  Molly  disdain- 
fully. And  her  mother  echoed  the  laugh  as  she  said  in  an 
explanatory  tone,  'The  child  gave  my  daughter  here  a  gold 
dollar  for  a  keepsake,  and  she  bought  her  rim  pair  of  gloves 
with  it.  I  recollect  my  husband  used  to  joke  me  about  my 
summer  boarder  that  paid  me  in  gloves 

I  was  not  cold  now  ;  every  drop  of  blood  in  my  body  was 
boiling  with  mortification  and  pain,  and  I  was  too  ashamed 
as  well  as  too  thoroughly  heart  stricken  to  be  angry  even. 
Still,  I  think  I  could  have  controlled  myself  and  preserved 
my  incognito,  but  at  that  moment  a  sound  of  boyish  feet 
sounded  without,  and  a  bright-faced  lad  peered  curiously 
in  at  the  open  door.  There  were  the  same  bright,  saucy 
eyes,  the  same  crisp,  black  curls,  the  same  dimples  even, 
and  with  an  irrepressible  cry  I  held  out  my  arms,  with  the 
tears  streaming  down  my  cheeks,  while  regardless  of  con- 
sequences. I  sobbed  out.  "0,  baby  Jack  !  Don't  yon  re- 
member me?' 

The  frightened  boy  stared  at  me  in  mute  astonishmeut.  but 
the  sound  of  my  own  voice  had  broken  the  spell,  and  with 
a  feeling  as  if  I  were  suffocating.  I  rushed  to  the  door,  and 
regardless  of  Mrs.  Mack's  broken  exclamations  and  remon- 
strances. I  went  out  into  the    driving   rain  with  a  feeling  of 


144     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

absolute  relief,  and  with  only  the  bitter,  bitter  cry  welling 
up  from  my  heart,  'The  one  bright  dream  of  a  life  broken 
and  lost  forever.' 

I  paid  for  my  imprudence  with  a  cold,  and  my  landlady 
expressed  her  surprise  that  I  had  not  taken  refuge  in  some 
house  until  the  shower  was  over. 

'Why  didn't  you  go  into  Mr.  MacLennan's  cottage?  It 
is  right  on  the  side  of  the  cliff,  where  you  were  when  the 
shower  first  overtook  you.' 

'MacLennan?'  I  repeated,  with  a  bewildered  look. 

'Yes,  they  live  in  a  pretty  straw-colored  cottage  half  way 
up  the  side,  and  are  reckoned  some  of  our  first  people  here. 
MacLennan  keeps  the  largest  grocery  establishment  in  town, 
and  his  wife  and  Mary  have  everything  that  money  can  buy.' 

I  turned  away  my  face  as  I  asked  tremulously,  'Is  this 
daughter  their  only  child?' 

'O  no,  they  have  two  boys. — the  oldest,  Robert,  is  a 
splendid  fellow.  He  follows  the  sea,  has  gone  mate  several 
voyages,  and  now  there  is  a  fine  brig  being  fitted  up  that  he 
is  to  go  master  of  in  a  few  weeks.  He  is  a  noble  fellow, 
not  so  much  of  a  money-catcher  as  his  father,  but  generous 
and  honest  as  the  day.  Why,  bless  me  !'  with  a  glance 
from  the  window,  'there  he  is  now,  coming  up  here, — that 
tall  young  man  in  a  Panama  hat.' 

I  looked,  and  saw  a  tall,  broad-chested  man,  with  the  un- 
mistakable gait  of  a  sailor,  whose  face,  bronzed  and  bearded 
as  it  was,  wore  still  the  same  frank,  kindly  look  that  had 
so  often  warmed  my  heart  in  our  childish  days.  'He's 
coming  in,'  fluttered  the  landlady  in  pleased  excitement. 
'Whv.  Miss  Grey  !  he's  asking  for  you  !'  and  the  next  mo- 
ment a  manly  step  sounded  upon  the  threshold,  a  pair  of 
eyes  brimming  over  with  kindness  and  welcome  looked  into 
mine,  and  a   strong,    warm   hand   clasped  mine    in    a  grasp 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  145 

that  was  almost  painful  as  its  owner  exclaimed  in  a  voice 
that  was  fairly  husky  with  emotion,  'Why,  Milly  Grey — 
little  Milly  !  I  should  have  known  you  if  I  had  run  across 
you  in  the  South  Sea  Islands.  Why,  I  believe,'  drawing 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes  with  a  half-ashamed 
laugh,  'I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  anybody  before  in  my 
life.' 

There  was  no  change  here  :  the  true,  noble,  honest  heart 
of  the  boy  beat  as  warmly  as  ever  in  the  bosom  of  the 
man,  and  for  the  next  hour  we  talked  as  only  those  talk 
who  have  no  thought  nor  fear  of  possible  misapprehension 
or  want  of  sympathy.  With  alternate  tears  and  laughter, 
we  went  back,  step  by  step,  over  each  little  footprint  of  the 
past,  recalling  a  score  of  incidents,  merry  and  sad,  rehears- 
ing the  very  songs  that  we  used  to  sing  and  the  stories  that 
we  told  sitting  in  the  soft  purple  twilight,  on  the  rough  door- 
stone,  with  only  the  lapping  of  the  waves  and  the  chirp  of 
some  belated  insect  for  an  accompaniment. 

Again  we  paddied  with  our  bare  feet  in  the  shining 
waves,  or  waded  out,  hand  in  hand,  into  the  foamy  surf, 
holding  our  breath  in  a  delightful  excitement  that  was 
almost  terror  as  we  felt  the  strong  undertow  lifting  our  feet 
from  the  sandy  bottom  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts  to  keep  a 
foothold  ;  or  hunted  for  clams  among  the  dripping  rocks  and 
seaweed,  or  the  curious  sea-urchins  and  star-fish  that  the  re- 
ceding tide  sometimes  left  upon  the  wet  sands. 

It  had  grown  so  dark  in  the  room  before  he  rose  to  go 
that  I  could  not  see  his  face,  although  I  could  feel  the  pain- 
ful embarrassment  in  his  tone,  as  he  said,  hesitatingly, 
'That  money,  Mildred,  that — that  you  sent  to  my  mother 
this  morning,  we — they  couldn't  think  of  keeping  it  of 
course,     You  must  take   it  back.'     And    he   tried  to   put  a 


146     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

roll  of  bills  into  my  hand  ;  but  I  could  no  more  have  touched 
them  than  I  could  have  handled  live  coals. 

kNo,'  I  said  with  a  firmness  that  I  hoped  he  would  under- 
stand, 'the  money  is  rightfully  theirs,  and  if  my  guardian 
was  dishonest,  that  is  no  excuse  for  my  being  so.' 

'But,'  he  reasoned  earnestly,  'for  the  sake  of  our  childish 
friendship,  by  its  thousand  pleasant  memories — O,  Milly  I 
don't  try  to  repay  our  love  with  money  !' 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears,  bitterly  regretful  drops,  but  I 
forced  myself  to  speak  the  truth, — I  could  not  bear  to  be 
misunderstood  in  this  rnatler. 

'If  your  mother  and  sister  felt  as  you  do  about  it,  I  should 
be  not  only  willing  but  proud  to  be  indebted  to  them  for  the 
kindness  and  care  that  my  childhood  received  from  their 
hands  ;  but' — I  paused  a  moment  in  painful  embarrassment 
— 'as  it  is,  I  could  neither  sleep  nor  rest  if  their  services 
remained  unpaid.' 

I  was  understood  ;  and  replacing  the  money  in  his  pock- 
et-book, he  said  regretfully,  but  without  a  shadow  of  anger 
in  his  tones  :  'Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  think  I  should  feel 
much  the  same  under  the  same  circumstances.'  And  with 
a  grave  but  kindly  'good  night'  he  left  me.  never  more  to 
come  back  again,  for  that  very  night  a  dispatch  was  received 
that  his  vessel  was  ready,  and  he  started  for  New  York 
early  the  next  morning,  leaving  a  tender  good-bye  for  me 
with  his  mother,  who  made  the  message  an  excuse  for  call- 
ing, and  overwhelmed  me  with  apologies  and  explanations 
that  I  received  for   just  what  they  were  worth— no  more. 

But  the  shawl !  O,  yes  !  It  was  just  after  I  had  com- 
menced teaching  a  city  school,  some  seven  or  eight  years 
after  that,  that  a  package  was  sent  me  all  the  way  from  In- 
dia, containing  this  shawl  and  a  letter  from  Captain  Robert 
MacLennan,  written  in  the  old  frank,    cordial    fashion,  tell- 


THE  EAGLE  IN  THE  SEA-BIRD'S  NEST.  147 

ing  me  of  his  success  in  his  profession,  and  describing  with 
aU  the  humor  and  vividness  of  his  boyish  days  his  various 
adventures  on  land  and  sea.  and  winding  up  with  the  news 
(I  could  almost  see  the  look,  half-shy.  half-proud,  of  his 
manly  face  as  he  wrote  the  words)  of  his  coming  marriage 
with  a  young  English  lady,  whose  father  was  some  kind  of 
a  government  official  out  there,  and  who  was,  to  use  his  own 
words,  -a  lit  mate  for  a  king.'  " 

"I  hope,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  there  was  a  quaint, 
pathetic  tenderness  in  her  tones  as  she  spoke,  that  she 
proved  a  lit  mate  for  my  eagle." 

'•Is  he  living  now?"  I  asked,  below  my  breath. 
"Ho.    His  mother  sent  me  the  paper  containing  the  news 
of  his  death,  more  than  twenty  years  ago.     He    died  as  a 
brave  man  should,  in  saving  from  death  the  helpless  ones 
committed  to  his  care.      He  was  captain  of  a  large  emigrant 
ship,  and  the  vessel  sprung  a  leak   when  they    were    almost 
in  sight  of  the   American  shores.     Of  course  there    was  a 
terrible  panic— everybody  rushing  for  the  boats,   the  strong 
trampling  down  and  thrusting  aside  the  weak  in   their  un- 
reasoning terror  ;  but  he   stood  by  the  gang-way.    pistol  in 
hand,  and  threatened  to  shoot    the    tirst   man    who    tried  to 
get  into  the  boats  before  the  women  and  children,  and  when 
the  last  boat  load  was  about  to  push  off,  with  room  for  only 
one  move,  he  put  a  poor  helpless  sick  lad.   the  only  one  left 
besides  himself  on  the  deck  of  the  sinking  vessel,  into  the 
vacant  place,  and  calling  out  to  his  mate,  as  the  boat  pushed 
off:  -Give  my  love  to  my  wife  and  children,  and  tell    them 
that  I  died  at  my  post.'  he  stood  calmly,   with  folded  arms. 
on  the  deck  of  his  vessel,  and  went  down  with  her  into  the 
fathomless  ocean,  with  not  an  eye  of  friend  or  stranger  to 
look  upon  his  dying  agony." 


148     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  I  could  see  the 
tears  trickle  from  between  her  thin  fingers  as  I  stole  softly 
away,  feeling  that  in  a  sorrow  like  hers,  words  of  sympathy 
however  sincere,  must  be  ill-timed  and  useless  rather  than 
welcome  ;  and  wondering,  in  my  own  heart,  at  the  unwritten 
romances  in  which  some  of  the  most  apparently  common- 
place lives  are  rich,  if  one  only  has  the  skill  and  patience  to 
decipher  them. 

Later,  in  speaking  of  her  to  my  friend,  the  matron,  I  ex- 
pressed some  surprise  that  one  who  had  been  a  successful 
teacher  for  so  many  years  should  not  have  saved  enough, 
with  her  simple,  inexpensive  habits,  to  have  insured  her 
against  want  in  her  old  age, — for  I  knew  that  besides  the 
usual  admission  fee  of  a  hundred  dollars,  she  had  very  little 
that  she  could  call  her  own. 

The  lady  shook  her  head  gravely.  "There  was  a  woman 
named  MacLennan,  I  think,  who  was  for  years  a  pensioner 
upon  her  bounty,  so  that  she  could  do  little  more  than  meet 
her  expenses  with  her  salary.  The  woman,  who  was  a 
widow  and  childless,  was  aged  and  very  infirm,  but  I  never 
fully  understood  what  claim  she  had  upon  Miss  Grey,  who 
cared  for  her  with  the  devoted  tenderness  of  a  daughter 
until  her  death,  impoverishing  herself  that  the  last  days  of 
her  charge  might  be  easy  and  pleasant." 

I  could  only  utter  the  simple  commonplace  that  came  to 
my  lips  :  "It  was  like  her." 

And  the  matron  nodded  a  cordial  assent. 


C.E. 


CHURCH    MICK.  151 


CHAPTER     I. 

He  was  a  stranger,  and  unused  to  the  softer  moods  of  a 
New  England  October,  and  as  he  walked  slowly  down  the 
long  village  street  that  narrowed  and  took  a  sharp  turn  into 
the  river  road  beyond,  it  is  no  wonder  that  a  feeling  of  de- 
vout thankfulness  filled  his  heart  that  his  lines  had  fallen  in 
such  pleasant  places. 

On  one  hand  stretched  acre  upon  acre  of  meadow  and 
woodland,  gay  with  autumnal  tints,  while  on  the  other,  the 
blue  Penobscot  lay,  smiling  and  dimpling  back  to  the  sun- 
shine, unmindful  of  the  foamy  falls  and  wilful  currents  that 
had  fretted  its  downward  way  for  many  a  lengthening  mile. 

The  far  off  mountain's  side  glowed  and  gleamed  with  the 
vivid  scarlet,  gold  and  russet  of  the  ripened  leaves,  so  deftly 
blended  by  the  distance  and  softened  by  the  pale  violet 
mists  of  the  early  autumn,  that  the  rugged  mass  of  world- 
old  granite  seemed  draped  from  head  to  foot,  like  an  Eastern 
caliph,  with  the  costly  product  of  Indian  looms. 

Wide,  undulating  fields,  here  pale  and  shorn  from  the  re- 
cent sickle,  and  there  green  or  crimson  with  the  lush  after- 
math of  the  upspringiDg  grass  and  clover. 

The  farmhouses  dotted  here  and  there  over  the  level 
stretches,  formed  a  pleasant  contrast,  in  their  weather 
stained  picturesqueness,  to  the  smart  white  cottages  that 
lined  the  village  street,  and  with  the  eye  of  an  artist  rather 
than  a  financier,  the  young  man  drank  in  with  delight  the 
peaceful,  rustic  beauty  of  the  scene,  where  humble  toil  had 
succeeded  in  supplanting  rather  than  depreciating  Nature. 


152     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Fresh  from  the  classic  halls  of  his  ahna  mater,  it  is  not 
strange,  that,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  pleased  fancy,  he 
should  find  himself  repeating  half  unconsciously  those  well 
known  lines  from  the  Roman  poet : 

"We  dwell  where  forest  pathways  wind, 
Haunt  velvet  banks 'neath  shady  trees, 
And  meads  with  rivulets  fresh  and  green ; 
But  climb  with  me  this  ridgy  hill, 
Yon  path  shall  take  you  where  you  will." 

There  was  something  tenderly  reverential  in  the  tone 
with  which  he  repeated  the  words  of  the  immortal  bard, 
and  lifting  his  hat  from  his  heated  forehead,  he  stood  with 
bared  head,  and  a  face,  glowing  with  happy  thoughts, 
turned  longingly  to  the  cool  restfulness  of  the  near  forest 
shadows. 

And  yet  one  would  never  have  taken  him  for  a  classical 
enthusiast,  this  broad  chested,  brown  cheeked  young  man, 
so  full  of  bounding  life  to  his  very  finger  tips,  that  it  found 
vent  in  a  hundred  boyish  ways  that  would  sorely  have  tried 
the  faith  of  some  of  those  good,  staid  souls  who,  sitting 
under  his  preaching  the  day  before,  had  listened  to  the  elo- 
quent and  earnest  words  that  fell  from  his  lips,  with  an  un- 
defined feeling  that  he  must  be  as  far  above  the  trivialities 
of  common  life  as  the  theme  of  his  discourse  was  above 
such  ordinary  things  as  the  harvesting  and  mill  tending  that 
made  up  the  sum  of  their  own  every-day  life. 

He  was  a  fine  reader,  and  Miss  Minerva  Masterman  had 
remarked,  in  confidence,  to  half  a  dozen  different  persons, 
on  the  way  out  of  church,  that  his  reading  of  the  opening 
hymn, 

"There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood," 

had  affected  her  so  that  she  had  found  it  difficult  to  bring 
her  mind  down  to  the  organ  accompaniment  and  play  it 
with  the  spirit  and  feeling  such  exquisite  reading  demanded. 


CHURCH    MICE.  153 

Perhaps  Miss  Minerva  would  have  been  quite  as  well 
pleased  with  the  whistled  tune  with  which  he  beguiled  the 
way  on  this  pleasant  morning  walk,  and  thereafter  have 
classed 

"Down  upon  de  Swanee  riber" 

among  the  hymns  in  her  favorite  collection.  But  unfortu- 
nately, she  had  not  been  invited  to  share  the  walk,  although 
he  had  stopped  at  her  father's  gate,  on  the  way,  for  a  little 
friendly  chat  and  direction. 

'•You  will  find  the  road  between  this  and  the  old  town 
very  picturesque,  although  rather  rough  in  places." 

The  young  man  smiled  and  glanced  significantly  at  his 
well  shod  feet. 

"'I  am  a  good  walker,  and  always  go  prepared  for  the 
rough  as  well  as  the  smooth.  But,  Miss  Minerva,  will  you 
tell  me  something  about  this  old  town  ?  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  it  on  my  way  here  and  I  thought  I  saw  a  church  spire 
above  the  trees." 

A  little  frown  of  annoyance  marred  for  an  instant  the 
placid  beauty  of  the  young  lady's  face,  and  she  slowly  drew 
off  her  garden  gloves  and  made  a  feint  of  brushing  some 
purp'e  aster  quills  from  them,  as  if  willing  to  gain  time  to 
frame  a  suitable  reply  to  his  evidently   unexpected  question. 

"Ye-es,  there  is  an  old  church  there,  but  it  is  out  of  re- 
pair and  not  fit  to  hold  services  in.  You  see,"  with  a  sud- 
den access  of  confidence,  "after  papa  built  his  mills  here, 
naturally  this  became  the  center  of  the  town,  and  now  the 
old  part  is  almost  deserted — mills,  church,  everything,  is 
fast  falling  to  decay." 

There  was  a  little  ring  of  triumph  in  her  tones  of  which 
her  hearer  took  no  note.  His  eyes  were  scanning  half  un- 
consciously the  "new"  church,  not  many  rods  away,   spruce 

and  shining  in    its    coat  of  fresh    white    paint,    and    he  re- 
11 


154     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

proached  himself  for  the  whimsical  comparison  that  flashed 
across  his  mind,  of  its  likeness,  in  its  ostentatious  newness, 
to  its  projector  and  main  supporter,  the  rich  mill  owner, 
Miss  Minerva's  honored  parent. 

But  it  never  would  do  to  allow  such  unkind  fancies  lodg- 
ment in  his  breast,  and  with  a  hurried  return  to  the  practical, 
he  asked,  for  want  of  something  better  to  say  : 

"But  isn't  this,  our  church,   rather  too  near  the  river  for 
safety?     If,  during  one  of  your    Spring   freshets,    the    dam 
above  should  give  way,    I    should    think    that    the  building 
might  be  in  considerable  danger." 
"Not  in  the  least." 

Miss  Minerva  spoke  with  that  little  air  of  prompt  authority 
that  seemed  habitual  with  her. 

"Papa  thought  of  that  when  he  decided  upon  the  loca- 
tion, and  by  investigating  the  matter  he  found  that  never, 
during  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  has  the  river 
risen  within  more  than  ten  yards  of  where  the  church 
stands,  and  that,  only  once,  some  forty  years  ago." 

Her  companion  bowed  a  polite,  but  really  indifferent  as- 
sent. In  fact,  he  didn't  imagine  that  the  structure  was  in 
any  danger,  but  one  must  say  something,  and  pleasant  and 
flattering  as  Miss  Minerva's  girlish  pleasure  in  his  society 
certainly  was,  it  could  not  make  him  forget  his  delayed 
morning  walk,  so  he  was  only  too  glad  to  let  it  serve  as  a 
final  to  the  conversation,  and  as  he  strode  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  old  town,  with  a  free,  light  step,  every  movement 
energetic,  alert,  and  as  unconscious  of  bodily  fatigue  as  of 
mental  ennui,  he  never  once  looked  back,  or  dreamed  of 
the  wistful,  disappointed  face  that  watched  him  out  of  sight 
(the  new  minister  was  evidently  a  very  interesting  person 
in  the  eyes  of  the  fair,  proud  daughter  of  the  village  auto- 
crat ) 


'•The  homely,  rough  barked   pines   and   spruces  were  like 
old,  familiar  faces  to  him." 


CHURCH  MICE.  155 

And  as  he  follows  the  woodland  road,  that  has  now  nar- 
Towed  into  a  mere  cart  track,  where  tall  grasses  and  the 
lavish  gold  of  the  yellow  elover  dispute  every  inch  of  the 
May  with  the  one  narrow  wheel  mark,  he  is  glad  to  miss  the 
tall  chimneys  and  staring,  lidless  eyes  of  the  great  mill 
buildings,  and  be  able  for  a  time,  to  confer  comfortably 
with  nature  herself. 

The  homely,  rough  barked  pines  and  spruces  were  like 
old  familiar  friends,  wearing  ever,  through  the  winter's 
snow  and  the  summer's  heat,  the  same  unchanging  faces, 
and  Miss  Minerva's  dainty  instincts  would  have  received  a 
terrible  shock  could  she  have  seen  the  boyish  delight  with 
which  her  paragon  pounced  upon  a  tempting  bit  of  spruce 
gum,  clinging  like  an  amber  bead  to  the  weather-beaten 
breast  of  its  parent  tree,  scratching  his  knees  and  tearing  an 
unseemly  hole  in  his  clerical  broadcloth  in  his  frantic  ef- 
forts to  secure  the  prize. 

It  was  not  nearly  so  good  as  it  looked,  but  in  pious  re- 
membrance of  his  boyish  days,  the  young  man  patiently 
turned  the  bitter,  sticky  morsel  over  and  over  between  his 
strong,  Avhite  teeth,  trying  against  odds  to  give  it  the  proper 
consistency  and  sweetness.  '*I  seem  to  be  what  the  Scotch 
call  a  'stickit  minister'  "  he  laughed  merrily,  as  he  tried  to 
disentangle  his  teeth  from  the  clinging  mass  preparatory  to 
emerging  into  a  more  open  country  where  the  sound  of 
voices  warned  him  that  he  could  no  longer  indulge  in  his 
solitary  dissipation. 

He  was  not  prepared,  however,  for  the  sudden  turn  in 
the  road  that  brought  him,  all  at  once,  without  the  least 
preparation,  close  to  a  building  that  he  knew  at  a  glance 
must  be  the  deserted  church  of  which  Miss  Masterman  had 
spoken. 


156     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

It  had  been  quite  a  pretentious  edifice  in  its  day,  built  of 
the  beautiful  dark  grey  stone  of  the  region,  with  sharp 
pointed  windows,  across  whose  lower  panes  boards  had  been 
nailed,  whether  to  protect  or  supply  the  place  of  missing 
panes,  was  uncertain. 

A  wild  hop  vine  had  sprung  up  or  been  planted  near  the 
door,  and  clinging  to  the  rough  stone  had  managed  to 
clamber  over  the  whole  front,  hanging  its  now  pale,  yellow 
bells  upon  the  empty  turret  from  which,  in  other  days,  had 
rung  out  the  call  to  worship  God  in  this,  His  house. 

It  was  a  desolate,  lonely  spot  in  spite  of  the  natural 
beauty  of  the  situation.  The  grass  and  weeds  grew  rankly 
even  up  to  the  very  threshold  of  the  high,  arched  door- way, 
and  long  rows  of  swallows  sat  undisturbed  upon  the  ragged 
eaves,  or  flew  in  and  out  of  the  ruined  turret,  with  the  easy 
assurance  of  life-long  proprietors.  The  young  minister's 
face  saddened  as  he  looked  upon  this  picture  of  decay  and 
desolation.  It  was  his  Father's  house — neglected  and  for- 
saken, yet  none  the  less  dear  to  his  loyal  heart  as  the  spot 
whence  the  voice  of  prayer  and  praise  had  ascended  to 
Heaven,  and  where  God's  children  had  assembled  to  taste 
the  commemorative  bread  and  wine  of  the  new  testament  of 
a  loving  God  to  sinful  man.  In  their  stern  determination 
to  throw  off  all  Romish  superstitions  of  time  and  place,  our 
fathers,  backed  by  their  poverty  of  material  and  artistic 
taste,  builded  for  God's  worship  the  plainest,  stiffest,  most 
unlovely  structures  that  they  could  devise.  Uncarpeted, 
unwarmed  aid  unadorned,  the  old-fashioned  "meeting- 
house" was,  in  itself,  enough  to  chill  the  warmest  enthu- 
siasm and  stiffen  up  the  most  facile  knees  let  the  heart's 
need  be  ever  so  great. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  efforts  to  crush  out  that  reverence 
for  God's  temple  that  had  unfortunately,  in  past  ages,  lapsed 


CHURCH    MICE.  157 

into  a  blind  idolatry  of  the  visible  substance — forgetting  the 
invisible  presence  that  alone  made  sacred  the  shrine — the 
devout  heart  through  all  Christendom,  even  unto  our  own 
day,  feels  a  reverent  tenderness  for  those  pulseless  beams 
and  rafters  ;  the  boards  worn  by  sinful  human  feet,  and  the 
altar  rails  wet  so  often  with  the  tears  that  God  alone  heeds 
and  pities. 

There  was  something  too  of  indignation  mingling  with 
the  pain  that  this  scene  of  desolation  caused  him,  the  nat- 
ural indignation  of  a  sincere,  uncompromising  nature  against 
injustice  and  wrong  in  any  form. 

Why  should  this  church  have  been  left  to  decay  that  its 
more  showy  rival,  not  half  a  mile  away,  might  thrive  and 
wax  fat  upon  the  united  tithes  of  the  towns-folk  ? 

The  situation  here  was  really  more  central  for  the  town 
at  large  than  was  that  of  the  other,  and  through  the  trees, 
not  a  stone's  throw  away,  he  could  catch  a  gleam  of  white 
marble  that  betrayed  the  near  resting  place  of  the  fathers 
and  mothers  of  the  little  hamlet. 

That  the  rich  mill  owner  prided  himself  upon  being  the 
projector  and  most  liberal  patron  of  the  new  edifice,  he  wrell 
knew,  and  more  than  half  suspected  that  it  was  a  shrewd 
bid  for  added  power  and  influence. 

For  what  did  "Mr.  Hold-to-the- World"  say: 

"If  a  man  gets  a  good  wife,  and  good  customers,  and 
good  gain,  all  by  becoming  religious,  which  is  good,  there- 
fore, to  become  religious  to  get  all  these,  is  a  good  and  profit- 
able design." 

But  why,  even  with  his  own  selfish  ends  in  view,  did  he 
not  take  it  upon  himself  to  renovate  and  improve  this  de- 
serted— 

Deserted? 


158     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

With  an  involuntary  impulse  to  remain  unnoticed,  Paul 
Flanders  stepped  hastily  back  into  the  shelter  of  the  thick 
shrubbery,  where,  himself  unseen,  he  could  watch  the  figure 
that  emerged  just  then  from  the  door  of  the  church,  and 
with  a  very  workman-like  air  set  about  the  task  of  remov- 
ing the  boards  from  the  outside  of  the  windows. 

It  was  a  slender,  girlish  figure,  whose  graceful  outlines  a 
dress  plain  even  to  scantiness,  could  not  wholly  conceal.  An 
old-fashioned  sun-bonnet  of  crisp  white  muslin  effectually 
concealed  her  face,  but  the  curious  looker-on  noticed  with 
some  surprise  that  the  hands  handling  the  hammer  so  dex- 
trously  were  small  and  beautifully  shaped,  with  wrists 
white  and  dimpled  as  those  of  a  baby. 

Who  was  she,  and  what  could  be  her  business  here? 

As  if  in  reply  to  his  unspoken  question,  the  mysterious 
work- woman  having  removed  the  disfiguring  shutters, 
calmly  proceeded,  with  her  putty  knife,  to  replace  the 
broken  glass  in  the  still  firm  sashes.  As  she  worked,  she 
sang,  and  her  voice  rang  out  upon  the  still  morning  air  as 
blithe  and  sweet  as  that  of  any  feathered  house  builder  in 
the  forest  beyond. 

It  was  very  prosaic  work,  standing  upon  a  pile  of  dingy 
boards  and  setting  the  glass  in  a  broken  old  church  window, 
but  the  girl  seemed  determined  to  brighten  it  by  her  own 
mood,  trilling  merry,  rollicking  bits  of  song,  that  made  all 
the  woodland  echoes  laugh  back  to  her,  and  whistling  to  the 
blackbird  that  hopped  fearlessly  to  her  very  feet  and  turned 
up  an  inquisitive  eye  at  her,  with  an  abrupt  "cheep"  that 
seemed  to  ask  : 

"Pray  ma'am,  what  business  have  you  here?" 

From  a  pocket  in  the  breast  of  her  grey  flannel  blouse, 
she  threw,  from  time  to  time,  crumbs  to  the  squirrels  that 
chattered  and  frisked  up  and  down,    in  and  out  of  the  old 


CHURCH    MICE.  159 


building,  licensed  jesters  in  Dame  Nature's  court,  privileged 
to  call  the  mountain  "uncle,"  and  whisk  a  foolish  brush 
over  whatever  is  grandest  and  tairest  in  all  her  realm. 

Whatever  this  girl's  birth  or  breeding,  she  was  evidently 
hand  in  glove  with  all  these  wilding  creatures,  for  they 
seemed  to  have  no  fear  whatever  of  her.  Even  the  shy 
little  song-sparrow,  whose  housekeeping  days  were  over, 
and  her  brown  travelling  suit  on,  all  ready  for  an  early  start 
on  her  annual  southern  trip,  freely  helped  herself  to  the 
scattered  crumbs,  only  starting  a  little  nervously  as  the  bits 
of  dry  putty  fell,  now   and  then,    upon   her   too  inquisitive 

head. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Brownie."  chirruped  the    girl,  with  a 
merrv  laugh  at  the  shy  creature's  evident  disturbance. 

••We're  all  woodfolk  together,  now.  and  must  get  used  to 
each  other's  ways." 

But  with  a  soft  flutter  of  wings,  the  timid  thing  was  gone, 
scared  at  the  unfamiliar  human  voice,  and,  silent  now,  the 
girl  wrought  at  her  task,  patching,  replacing  and  fastening 
more  firmly  in  their  sashes  the  diminutive  pares  until  all 
was  finished,  and  she  stood  for  a  moment  silently  contem- 
plating her  work,  with  a  pathetic  droop  of  the  tired  hands 
that  spoke  volumes  to  the  sympathetic  stranger. 

Then  slowly,  wearily,  she  came  down  from  her  awkward 
perch,  and  seating  herself  upon  the  worn  threshold,  leaned 
her  head  against  the  rough  stone  doorway,  and  the  next 
moment  a  burst  of  passionate  weeping  revealed  to  the  un- 
willing listener  the  sorrow  that  had  been  so  bravely  mas- 
tered while  there  was  work  for  the  willing  hands  to  do,  but 
which  now.  in  the  supposed  solitude,  and  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  natural  reaction,  would,  for  a  time  at  least,  have 
its  way. 


160     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Ashamed,  self-condemned,  the  young  man  stole  noise- 
lessly away. 

With  the  subtle  instincts  of  a  true  gentleman,  he  felt  that 
this  was  neither  the  time  nor  place  to  proffer  sympathy  or 
aid.  A  stranger  may  not  intermeddle  with  the  heart's  se- 
cret bitterness,  and  Paul  Flanders,  so  far  from  wishing  to 
pry  into  the  poor  girl's  troubles,  could  only  blame  himself 
for  the  idle  curiosity  that  had  made  him  an  unwitting  spec- 
tator of  a  grief  whose  solitude  should  have  been  sacred 
from  stranger  eyes. 

And  yet,  for  many  a  day  thereafter,  he  would  find  him- 
self watching  for  that  form  among  the  many  passers  up  and 
down  the  village  streets,  or  listening  to  the  sound  of  girlish 
voices  in  church  choir,  in  the  school  room,  or  in  pleasant 
home  parlors,  hoping  to  catch  again  the  haunting  tones  that 
he  could  hear  saying,  over  and  over  again,  in  that  same  . 
half  sad,  half  merry  strain  : 

"We're  all  woodfolk  together,  now." 


CHURCH    MICE 


161 


CHAPTER     II. 

Stephen  Masterman  was  a  shrewd,  energetic,  some  said, 
unscrupulous  man,  although  even  these  last  were  forced  to 
admit  that  he  was,  by  far  the  most  free-handed  and  generous 
of  the  moneyed  men  of  his  native  town. 

Beginning  life  as  a  friendless,  penniless  lad,  he  had,   step 

•by  step,  won  his  way  to  the  very   top  of  the  ladder,   and  at 

the  time  our  story  opens,  was  the  complacent  owner  of  the 

largest  mills,  the  finest  house,  and  the  handsomest  and  most 

accomplished  daughter  of  any  man  in  the  county. 

That  Masterman  was  proud,  and,  if  opposed,  apt  to 
show  himself  arbitrary  and  domineering,  everybody  al- 
lowed, and  yet  his  rough  good  nature  and  natural  sociability 
made  him  a  general  favorite,  even  with  the  many  who  se- 
cretlv  envied  his  prosperity,  as  well  as  the  few,  whose  hon- 
est, upright  souls  revolted  from  the  sharp  policy  that,  with 
ostentatious  liberality,  builded  church  and  school-house,  yet 
withheld  from  the  widow  and  orphan  that  which  was  theirs 
by  right  of  God's,  if  not  of  man's  law. 

In  fact,  many  of  the  older  residents  of  the  town,  whose 
memory  of  the  past  was  not  entirely  dimmed  by  the  golden 
mists  of  the  present,  could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  look 
with  unmixed  satisfaction  upon  the  beautiful  home,  adorned 
with  all  that  could  please  the  eye  and  minister  to  the  com- 
fort of  its  owner,  while  the  daughter  of  his  old  employer,— 
the  man  whose  generous  hand  had  been  stretched  out  to 
him  in  his  friendless  boyhood,  helping  him  over  the  first 
rough  steps   in   his   upward  way, — widowed  and  penniless, 


162     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

actually  suffered  at  times  for  the  actual  uecessaries  of  life. 
It  could  not  be  that,  after  all  these  years,  the  man  still  cher- 
ished the  memory  of  her  rejection  of  his  love  in  bye-gone 
days,  and  meanly  rejoiced  in  her  present  humilation  and 
suffering. 

Some  of  the  older  people,  women  of  course — inclined  to 
that  belief,  and,  in  the  rich  man's  stealthy,  but  none  the 
less  real,  opposition  to  anything  that  could  smooth  a  little 
the  hard  path  the  widow  and  her  child  were  forced  to  tread, 
they  read  the  undying  hatred  of  a  scorned  and  slighted 
lover.  Of  this  romantic  theory,  the  widow  Beezely,  who 
occupied  the  cottage  opposite  the  Masterman  mansion,  and 
had  known  its  proud  master  ever  since  he  wore  petticoats, 
and  made  mud  pies  in  the  gutter,  was  a  staunch  upholder, 
while  her  sympathy  for  the  Hamlins  was  correspondingly 
warm  and  outspoken. 

uYou  see,"  she  explained  to  her  boarder,  the  new  minis- 
ter, one  morning  as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  in  the  sunny  little 
dining  room,  "You  see  old  Mr.  Metcalf,  Miss  Hamlin's 
father,  built  the  very  first  o'  the  mills  here,  and  he  made  a 
sight  o'  money  in  the  lumber  trade,  and  did  more  to  build 
up  the  town  than  any  other  man  that  ever  lived  in  it.  He 
was  a  good,  kind  soul  too,  and  when  Steve  Masterman's 
drunken  old  father  died  he  took  the  boy  right  into  his  mill 
and  made  a  man  of  'im.  gin  'im  seek  a  boost  as  he  never'd 
got  any  other  way  in  the  world.  I  don't  see,  ter  save  my 
life,  how  folks  can  forgit  sech  favors.  And  here's  Avis 
Metcalf,  poor  and  a  wiclder,  and  Steve'il  let  her  and 
her  daughter  fairly  suffer  f 'r  the  comforts  o'  life.  I  wouldn't 
a'  raked  up  all  these  things  just  now,  but  I  heard  only  this 
mornin'  that  he'd  foreclosed  on  a  mortgage  that  he  holds  on 
the  old    Metcalf  homestead,   and   them    poor   souls   had  ter 


CHURCH    MICE.  163 

take  to  the  only  shelter  they  could  find,  the  old  meeting- 
house." 

Was  the  coffee  so  hot  that  it  burned  his  mouth,  or  why 
did  the  young  man  start  so  suddenly,  while  a  quick  flush 
overspread  his  face  even  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair?  Dur- 
ing the  week  that  had  passed  since  that  memorable  walk, 
and  his  unwitting  intrusion  upon  a  sorrow  into  which  he 
had  no  right  to  pry,  his  thoughts,  often  without  will  or  rea- 
son, would  hover  about  the  mysterious  stranger,  and  his 
voice  trembled  a  little  (with  natural  curiosity,  of  course,) 
as  he  asked  sharply  : 

"Moved  into  the  old  meeting-house?  What  right  had 
they  there?" 

The  dame  brushed  an  imaginary  crumb  from  her  clean, 
well  starched  apron,  and  settled  herself  back  comfortably  in 
her  chair  with  a  look  of  keen  enjoyment  upon  her  kind, 
motherly  face.  With  the  instincts  of  a  born  story-teller, 
she  knew  that  she  had  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  her  list- 
ener's mind  and  was  bound  to  make  the  most  of  it  in  the 
interests  of  her  unfortunate  friends. 

"Well,  that's  all  on  account  of  a  deed  that  old  Mr.  Met- 
calf  made  at  the  time  the  church  was  built. 

He  made  a  present  of  the  building  and  the  ground  'twas 
built  on  to  the  town,  but  with  the  proviso  that,  when  'twant 
used  any  longer  f 'r  a  meetin'-house  it  should  go  back  to  his 
heirs  unless  the  town  should  pay  them  the  worth  of  it." 

"Why  was  that?" 

"Well,  I  s'pose  his  idea  was,  that  by  leavin'  it  that  way, 
he'd  make  sure  that  this  part  o'  the  town  where  his  property 
was  would  be  the  business  part  always.  You  see,  folks 
like  ter  live  handy  to  the  meetin'-house,  an'  particularly  to 
the  buryin'-ground,  especially  when  they've  gone  to  the  ex- 
pense of  puttin'  up  gravestuns  f 'r  their  friends.     But  after 


164     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

the  old  man  died  and  his  son-in-law  failed  after  he'd  con- 
trived to  run  through  with  all  his  wife's  money.  Steve  Mas- 
terman,  who'd  been  gettin'  up  a  notch  at  a  time,  started  up 
these  new  mills,  higher  up  the  stream,  and  set  up  a  regular 
opposition  to  the  old  ones.  He  was  smart  and  pop'ler, 
somethin'  that  Hamlin  never  had  been,  nor  cared  to  be, 
and  'twant  long  before  he  had  everything  in  his  ban's.  And 
a  village  sprung  up  here  in  a  year  or  so,  that  kep'  growin' 
till  the  old  settlement  was  jest  about  wiped  out.  Then  the 
folks  here  begun  ter  grumble  about  the  old  meetin'-house 
bein'  out  o'  repair  and  not  good  enough  ter  suit  the  times  an' 
the  fashions.  That  started  the  idee  of  buildin'  a  new  one, 
and  of  course  Masterman  was  all  ready  for  it,  and  the  way 
he  shelled  out  was  a  wonder.  Why,  besides  subscribin' 
liberally  to'ards  the  buildin'  fund,  he  bought  the  organ  an' 
the  pulpit  chairs  and  Bible,  an'  give  handsomely  to  the 
communion  service. 

But  when  the  question  come  up  in  town  meetin'  about 
payin'  Hamlin's  widder  a  fair  price  f 'r  the  old  church, 
under  the  conditions  of  'er  father's  deed,  Masterman  fought 
it  tooth  an'  nail.  He  wa'n't  goin'  ter  give  a  red  cent  f 'r 
the  old  shell ;  'twant  wuth  live  dollars  land  and  all,  and  if 
the  widder  wanted  to  she  might  sell  it  to  the  townf'ra 
pound,  or  live  in  it  herself,  jest  which  she  liked  best.  Of 
course  there  was  a  good  deal  of  feelin'  about  it,  especially 
among  the  older  folks,  but  what  could  they  do  with  that 
organ  an'  Bible  an'  them  plush  bottomed  pulpit  chairs  star- 
in'  'em  in  the  face  every  Sunday  ?  So  at  last  they  fixed  it 
so't  Nora  Hamlin  should  have  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
year  f 'r  playin'  the  organ,  and  that,  with  her  music  scholars, 
(f'r  Nora  is  a  beautiful  player,  took  lessons  for  years,  while 
her  father  was  alive,)  has  kep  'em  along  fairly  comfortable 
till  this  fall." 


CHURCH    MICE.  165 

She  stopped  abruptly,  with  a  queer,  questioning  look  in 
her  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  upon  the   flushed,  indignant 
face  of  her  listener. 
••Well?" 

The  good  woman  fidgeted  uneasily  in  her  chair,  watch- 
ing furtively  from  the  window  opposite  a  tall,  graceful  figure, 
in  a  natty  jacket  and  very  becoming  garden  hat,  pacing 
slowly  up  and  down  the  broad  garden  walks,  plucking  the 
late  pansies  and  chrysanthemums,  with  never,  by  any 
chance,  a  look  at  the  cottage  over  the  way.— Miss  Master- 
man  had  enough  of  her  lather's  pride  to  keep  her  from  seem- 
ing to  tempt  observation. 

••Well,  after  Minervy  come  home  from  school  in  June, 
she  was  that  zealous  f'r  the  good  o'  the  church  an'  society 
that  she  offered  to  play  the  organ  herself  f'r  nothing  and 
with  the  money  saved  in  that  way  buy  a  stained  glass  win- 
dow to  go  over  the  door.  'Twas  dretful  good  in  'er,  of 
course,  but."  with  another  sharp  look  at  her  companion,  "it 
come  ruther  hard  on  the  Hamlins,  for  they  couldn't  raise 
the  interest  on  the  mor'gage  and  Masterman  foreclosed,  and 
that  left  'em  out  o'  house  an'  home,  so't  they  didn't  have 
nowheres  to  go  to  but  the  meetin'-house.— 4hat  they  can 
call  their  own  and  nobody  can  turn  'em  out  of  it,  though  I 
hear  that  some  folks  are  makin'  a  terrible  to-do  about  the 
wickedness  of  anybody's  usin'  God's  house  to  eat  an'  sleep 
in  ;— that  is,"— with  a  shrewd  chuckle,—  "on  zveek  days.'* 
-It's  a  shame,  a  cruel,  burning  shame  '."  cried  the  young 
man.  "that  they  should  have  been  driven  to  it." 

And  Mrs.  Beezely  smiled  shrewdly  to  herself  as,  rising 
hastily  from  the  table,  he  betook  himself  to  his  own  room 
without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  pretty,  tempting  picture 
across  the  wav. 


166     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

With  the  warm  enthusiasm  and  hopefulness  of  youth, 
Paul  Flander's  first  thought,  after  his  indignation  had  some- 
what subsided,  was,  that  in  one  way  or  another,  this  cruel 
wrong  to  the  widow  and  orphan  must  and  should  be  righted. 
Although  he  had  not  been  in  the  least  attracted  to  the  village 
autocrat,  whose  vulgar  ostentation  and  ignorance  of  the 
more  delicate  courtesies  of  life  had  naturally  repelled  him 
at  the  outset,  he  could  not  believe  him  to  be  the  deliberately 
cruel  and  malignant  being  that  his  talkative  landlady  had 
described. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  he  was  really  ignorant  of  the  straits  to 
wliich  his  old  friend's  daughter  and  her  child  were  reduced. 
Such  a  busy  man,  with  scarcely  a  moment  that  he  could 
call  his  own,  would  not  be  likely  to  interest  himself  much  in 
his  neighbors'  private  affairs  ;  while  Miss  Minerva, — with 
her  music,  and  her  art  studies,  and  her  botanizing,  and  geol- 
ogizing, and  correspondence,  and  fancy  work, — well,  she 
would  scarcely  be  likely  to  understand  the  circumstances 
that  made  her  situation  as  organist  an  actual  necessity  to 
the  impoverished  granddaughter  of  the  once  opulent  mill- 
owner. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Masterman — "Lib." 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  then  frowned  a  reproof  to 
himself  for  his  ill  timed  merriment. 

He  had  wondered  a  hundred  times  during  the  past  month 
what  could  have  tempted  that  proud,  worldly  wise  man  to 
choose  for  his  life's  mate  the  little,  ugly,  malformed  woman, 
whom  everybody — even  to  the  chore  boy  and  washerwom- 
an— called  "Lib,"  without  the  courtesy  even  of  the  mat- 
ronly prefix. 

Uncouth  in  manners  and  uncultured  in  speech,  it  seemed 
impossible  that  she  should  be  the  mother  of  that  elegant, 
refined  girl,  whose  every  word  and  gesture  seemed  the  per- 


CHURCH    MICE.  167 

feciion  of  womanly  grace  and  sweetness.  Rude  by  nature 
and  utterly  unskilled  in  the  ways  peculiar  to  refined  and 
cultured  people,  the  poor  woman  seemed  to  an  observer  as 
utterly  out  of  place  in  her  beautiful  home  as  would  an  in- 
trusive yellow  dock  against  the  satin  and  gold  of  a  bed  of 
lilies. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  no  reason  for  thinking  that  her 
familv  were  in  the  least  ashamed  of  her, — perhaps  their 
long  familiarity  with  her  ways  had  made  them  oblivion-  of 
her  peculiarities.  Her  husband  treated  her  with  the  same 
good  matured  condescension  that  he  vouchsafed  to  the  world 
at  large,  while  the  daughter  was  by  far  too  well  bred  to 
show,  even  if  she  felt,  any  sense  of  her  mother's  undeniable 
inferiority.  A  woman,  especially  a  mother,  would  have 
noticed  however,  that,  while  she  never  tried,  after  the  man- 
ner of  too  many  of  her  sex  and  age,  to  correct  her  mother's 
often  absurd  blunders,  neither  did  she  try,  with  a  daughter's 
loving  tact,  to  soften  down  the  jagged  edges  and  throw  a 
rosy  glamour  over  the  hard  outlines  of  her  mother's  un- 
lovely personality. 

She  evidently  accepted  her  just  as  she  was. — one  of  the 
unavoidable  trials  of  life  that  so  far  had  been  singularly 
exempt  from  trials  of  any  kind. 

If  this  gentle  hearted  girl  could  only  know  that,  by  her 
grenerouslv  meant  services  as  organist  of  the  new  church 
she  was  really  defrauding  the  unfortunate  widow  and  her 
daughter  of  their  principal  means  of  support,  no  doubt  she 
would  see  the  matter  in  its  true  light  and  gladly  resign  her 
position  in  favor  of  the  girl  who  so  needed  it. 

S  reasoned  the  young  minister  as,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
he  made  his  toilet  preparatory  to  a  visit  at  the  house  across 
the  way,  where  he  had  been  invited  to  an  informal  tea  by 
no  less  a  person  than  the   mistress  of  the   house,    who   had 


168      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

run  across  that  morning  in  her  kitchen  apron,  and  after  a 
secret  conference  with  Mrs.  Beezely  had  put  her  head  in  at 
the  study  door  without  even  the  formality  of  a  knock,  and 
remarked  in  her  crisp,  curt  fashion  : 

"I've  had  extra  good  luck  with  my  cream  cakes  to-day, 
— won't  you  skip  over  an'  take  a  snack  with  us  ?  Hes  off 
up  river  for  the  day,  but  I  guess  'Nervy  an'  I'll  see't  you 
don't  go  home  hungry." 

Of  course  he  would  go,  and  then  perhaps  he  would  find 
the  opportunity  that  he  sought,  to  interest  Miss  Masterman 
in  the  Hamlins.  With  her  sweet  and  tenderly  sympathetic 
nature,  it  would  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  make 
her  see  her  duty  in  this  matter,  and  he  remembered  with  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  how  her  blue  eyes  had  filled  with  tears 
as  she  had  listened  to  his  reading  of  the  death  scene  of 
"little  Paul"  only  a  few  evenings  before. 

After  the  fashion  of  mankind  generally,  Paul  Flanders 
had  formed  his  judgment  of  the  soul  from  the  beautiful  man- 
tle of  flesh  wherewith  its  Maker  had  clothed  it,  and  that  the 
fair,  sweet  voiced  girl,  who  looked  up  to  him  with  such 
shyly  adoring  eyes,  could  be  any  other  than  the  gentle,  un- 
selfish creature  that  his  imagination  painted,  never  once  oc- 
curred to  him. 

To  be  sure,  the  father  was  a  vulgar,  purse  proud  egotist ; 
the  mother  an  uncultured  drudge  ;  but  this  beautiful,  high 
minded  offshoot  of  an  unpromising  stock — as  he  passed 
through  the  grounds  he  had  noticed  a  gnarled  wind  twisted 
old  apple  tree  with  its  scant  crop  of  natural  fruit, — small 
hard  and  unappetizing, — while  near  the  top  a  graft  had 
been  introduced,  whose  long,  slender  branches  were  laden 
with  rare  fruit  that  glowed  and  reddened  beneath  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun,  like  veritable  apples  of  Eden, — "must 
be  a  graft,"  he  appended,  with  a  smile  at  the    comparison, 


CHURCH    MICE.  169 

as  he  waited  for  a  moment  at  the  stately  doorway  until  his 
ring  should  be  answered.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he 
had  tasted  the  hospitalities  of  that  house,  and  to-day,  al- 
though his  welcome  was  as  warm  and  free  as  ever,  he  felt, 
somehow,  before  he  had  been  five  minutes  beneath  its  roof, 
that  something,  some  untoward  current  in  the  home  atmos- 
phere had  been  set  in  motion,  leaving  an  almost  impercept- 
ible chill  that  boded  a  domestic  storm  of  some  kind. 

Miss  Minerva  discoursed  as  intelligently  upon  her  Brown- 
ing studies,  and  was  as  sweetly  deferential  to  his  opinions 
as  usual,  but  contrary  to  the  usual  custom  of  the  household, 
Mrs.  Masterman  retained  her  seat  by  the  fireside,  and  with 
knitting  in  hand  watched  with  sharp,  yet  troubled  eyes, 
every  movement  of  the  twain,  seldom  making  any  observa- 
tion herself,  yet  listening  with  evident  interest  to  every  word 
that  was  spoken. 

Gradually,  for  a  wonder,  the  conversation  actually  drifted 
around  to  the  subject  uppermost  in  the  young  man's  mind, 
and  curiously  enough  it  was  Miss  Minerva  herself  who 
first  alluded  to  it  : 

"We  heard  of  such  a  dreadful,  disgraceful  thing  this 
morning,  that  I  have  scarcely  been  myself  to-day,  I  feel  that 
shocked  and  grieved.  A  half  insane  woman,  a  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin, and  her  daughter,  have  actually  taken  possession  of 
the  old  church  that  I  was  telling  you  about  and  are  living 
there.  Such  a  desecration  of  God's  house  !  It  makes  my 
blood  run  cold  to  think  of  it." 

And  the  skein  of  rose-colored  zephyr  that  the  gentleman 
was  gallantly  holding  for  the  fair  speaker  to  wind,  actually 
trembled  with  the  violence  of  her  emotions. 

'-Where  else    could  they    go    I    should   like    to    know?" 

snapped  the  bent  figure  by  the   fireside,   without  waiting  for 

the  minister's  comment. 
12 


170      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"When  folks  are  turned  out  o'  their  own  house  an'  home, 
they've  got  ter  go  so?nezvkeres,  I  s'pose,  haint  they?" 

Little  did  "Lib"  Masterman  dream  of  the  grateful  glow 
that  her  unselfish  championship  of  the  unfortunate  pair 
awoke  in  the  heart  of  her  listener,  for  she  was  too  dread- 
fully conscious  of  the  frown  upon  her  daughter's  brow  to 
notice  his  look  of  honest  approval. 

Miss  Minerva  hastened  to  explain  that  "If  Mrs.  Hamlin 
were  sent  to  the  Insane  Asylum,  where  she  could  have  the 
care  that  her  state  demanded,  Xora  might,  with  her  music 
scholars,  make  a  comfortable  living  for  herself." 

"If  Miss  Hamlin  could  have  her  former  salary  as  organ- 
ist," began  the  young  man  diffidently,  (for  Miss  Minerva's 
face  had  flushed  angrily  at  the  suggestion,  while  her  mother 
had  dropped  her  knitting  and  was  listening  with  breathless 
interest. ) 

"It  really  seems  as  if  they  needed  the  money  earned, 
more  than  the  society  need  that  amount  saved." 

"That  so  !  that's  jest  it !"  cried  Mrs.  Masterman  eagerly, 
"Avis  Metcalf  ain't  no  more  crazy'n  /be.  She's  feeble, 
poor  creature  !  and  what  with  the  wTorry,  and  bein'  half 
clothed  an'  fed,  the  only  wonder  to  me  is  that  she's  kep  'er 
senses  as  well  as  she  has." 

"Mother  is  partial,"  explained  Miss  Minerva,  with  a 
forced  smile  that  was  intended  to  be  apologetic,  "Mrs. 
Hamlin  and  she  were  friends  in  their  girlhood,   and—" 

"Her  father  took  me  out  o'  the  poorhouse  when  I  wa'ant 
but  ten  years  old,  and  he  fed  an'  clothed  me  and  gave  me 
a  good,  decent  bringin'  up.  He  and  his  daughter  was  the 
best  and  kindest  friends  that  a  poor  fatherless  and  mother- 
less pauper  ever  had  and  I  should  be  meaner'n  shucks  if  I 
could  forsrit  it  in  'em." 


CHURCH    MICE.  171 

The  silence  that  followed  this  indiscreet  revelation  was  so 
profound  that,  for  a  minute  the  ticking  of  the  French  clock 
upon  the  mantel,  and  the  soft  rustle  of  the  younger  lady's 
dress,  as  she  shrank  back  into  the  depths  of  the  easy  chair. 
were  painfully  distinct. 

Then,  like  the  true  gentleman  that  he  was,  Mr.  Flanders 
came  to  the  rescue  : 

'•And  I  honor  you  for  it.  madam,"  he  said  heartily, 
while  carefully  avoiding  a  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
shrinking  figure  opposite.  "And  if.  as  I  have  heard,  the 
hither  of  this  poor  lady  was  one  of  the  honored  pioneers  of 
the  town,  it  is  a  shame  and  disgrace  to  its  citizens  that  his 
daughter  and  her  child  should  be  reduced  to  the  necessity  of 
finding  a  shelter  in  a  place  so  unfitted  for  them." 

Mrs.  Masterman'a  sinewy  hand  came  down  with  an  ap- 
proving slap  upon  the  speaker's  shoulder.  '  -That's  spoke 
like  a  man  and  a  Christian  !"  she  cried,  her  voice  husky 
with  feeling.  -'And  if  you'll  only  bestir  yerself  to  get  'em 
into  better  quarters  you'll  find  plenty  to  follow  your  lead." 

Miss  Minerva  was  silent,  but  there  was  a  dangerous  light 
in  her  downcast  eyes  that  boded  no  good  to  the  unfortunate 
pair  that  had  been,  though  unwittingly,  the  cause  of  this, 
to  her,  bitter  humiliation. 


172  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


CHAPTER     III. 

A  man  in  trying  to  accomplish  any  object  upon  which 
he  has  set  his  heart,  may,  indeed,  be  sly  and  underhanded, 
but  he  seldom  has  the  patience  to  piece  together,  bit  by  bit, 
the  small,  undefined  influences  that,  in  the  end,  are  surest 
to  bring  about  the  consummation  wished  for.  It  is  the 
woman  who  excels  in  this  kind  of  mental  patchwork — who 
has  the  patience,  as  well  as  the  art,  to  fit  in  a  hint  here,  an 
observation  there,  or  a  seemingly  irrelevant  suggestion  that, 
when  shrewdly  placed,  give  color  and  character  to  the 
whole.  Now  it  never  for  an  instant  occurred  to  the  Rever- 
end Paul,  when  Miss  Minerva  started  her  class  in  "Roman 
Architecture,"  going  out  of  her  way  to  bring  in  even  the 
most  careless  and  illiterate  of  the  younger  members  espec- 
ially of  the  society,  that  she  had  any  end  in  view  beyond 
the  honest,  benevolent  desire  to  encourage  higher  tastes  in 
art  and  literature  among  the  young  folks  of  her  native  vil- 
lage. 

He  didn't  mind  in  the  least  that  it  claimed  of  him  one 
evening  out  of  every  week,  to  say  nothing  of  the  almost 
daily  conferences  between  the  zealous  leader  and  himself, 
upon  various  knotty  or  disputed  points. 

It  was  at  her  suggestion  that  he  sent  for  a  stereopticon, 
with  pictures  mainly  illustrative  of  the  works  of  art  in  me- 
dieval cathedrals  and  churches,  and  as  the  class  was  gener- 
ously willing  to  share  its  privileges  with  the  town  at  large, 
an  illustrated  lecture  was  given  by  the  pastor  in  the  new 
church  to  a  delighted  and  enthusiastic  audience . 


CHURCH    MICE 


173 


And  all  the  time  that  "painted  window  in  our  new 
church"  was  not  allowed  for  a  day  to  fade  out  of  the  minds 
of  the  people,  while  the  desire  for  it  was  constantly  stimu- 
lated by  the  glimpses  of  ancient  art,  that  they  had  caught 
from  the  pictures  that  the  minister  himself  had  so  eloquently 
described. 

Nor,  in  the  multiplicity  of  his  duties,  had  the  young  man's 
benevolent  interest  in  the  Hamlins  in  the  least  abated,  for, 
true  to  his  promise,  he  had  struggled  manfully  to  turn  the 
tide  of  indignation  and  ridicule,  that  had  almost  over- 
whelmed the  so-called  desecrators  of  the  old  church,  into 
a  milder  form  of  charitable  interest. 

After  her  sharp  condemnation  of  the  unfortunate  pair  on 
that  memorable  afternoon,  the  young  minister  was  scarcely 
prepared  to  find  Miss  Minerva  perfectly  willing  to  resign 
her  position  as  organist  in  favor  of  Nora  Hamlin  -'if  the 
feople  desired  it"  while  she  won  his  warm  approval  by 
going  in  person  to  invite  the  lonely  girl  to  join  them  in  their 
art  studies. 

"Of  course  she  won't  come,"  she  explained,  with  well 
simulated  regret,  in  response  to  his  warmly  expressed  thanks 
for  her  "kind  thoughtfulness." 

"She  is  so  shabby,  poor  thing !  that  she  is  really  not  pre- 
sentable among  decently  dressed  people.  And,  to  tell  the 
truth,  she  has  very  little  taste  for  the  improvement  of  her 
mind  ;  she  is  a  good  musician,  but  woefully  ignorant  in  all 
other  respects." 

Her  listener  was  puzzled,  and  strangely  indignant  at 
the  unwelcome  indictment.  Somehow  he  could  not  recon- 
cile her  description  with  the  sweet  voiced  girl,  whose  clear, 
correct  tones,  though  only  once  listened  to,  still  haunted 
him  like  a  spell,  and  there  was  an  unusual  hesitancy  in  his 
voice  as  he  asked  diffidently:    "Perhaps— do  you   suppose 


174     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

that  this  Miss  Hamlin  would  resent  my  calling  upon  them  in 
their  strange  home  ?  It  seems  heathenish  to  leave  them  un- 
cared  for,  and  vet  my  good  landlady  has  hinted  that  the 
mother  would  be  apt  to  look  upon  me  as  an  intruder." 

Miss  Minerva  held  up  her  delicate  hands  with  a  pretty 
air  of  maidenly  protest  : 

"Oh  dear,  no.  Pray  don't  think  of  such  a  thing!  You 
have  no  idea  how  they  live — burrow,  I  should  call  it — in 
that  old  rat  hole  of  a  building.  Fires?  oh  yes,  they  have 
plenty  of  wood  and  no  lack  of  wholesome  food,  for  Nora 
has  several  music  scholars,  enough,  if  one  had  the  least  bit 
of  housewifely  tact  and  skill,  to  support  them  comfortably, 
but  such  waste  and  slovenliness." 

She  broke  off  in  well  simulated  confusion,  and  adroitly 
changed  the  subject  to  some  matter  of  parish  interest,  into 
which  the  Hamlins  could  by  no  possibility  intrude. 

And  yet,  with  the  proverbial  "contrariness"  of  his  sex, 
the  young  man  secretly  resolved  that,  at  the  Hrst  fitting  op- 
portunity, he  would  use  his  clerical  privilege  of  calling  upon 
the  much  maligned  pair  and  judge  for  himself  if  they 
really  deserved  the  sweeping  condemnation  that  so  many  of 
their  townsmen  seemed  disposed  to  accord  them. 

This  determination  was  strengthened  when,  at  the  regu- 
lar business  meeting  of  the  church  he  ventured  to  propose 
the  employment  of  the  former  organist,  two-thirds  of  the 
members  voted  against  it.  "We  haint  got  no  money  ter 
throw  away  on  folks  that  are  sech  heathen  that  they'll  turn 
God's  house  into  a  kitchen  an'  bedroom,"  remarked  one  of 
the  deacons,  a  hard  headed,  prejudiced  old  fellow,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  loudest  in  his  denunciation  of  the  unfortu- 
nate widow  and  her  daughter. 

"The  widder  Hamlin  has  made  'er  bed.  an'  now  she's  got 
ter  lay  on  it.     In  the  old  man's  day  they  wasted  their  sub- 


UHUUCH    MICE.  175 

stance  in  riotous  livin',  an'  now  they've  got  the  imperdence 
to  expect  hard  working  prudent  folks  ter  turn  to  an'  help 
support  'em.  If'r  one  won't  give  a  red  cent  to'ards  payin' 
that  gal  for  thunipin'  on  the  orgin, — so  there  ye  have  it 

A  titter  ran  around  the  group  of  younger  folk  as  the  old 
man  sat  down  with  a  deeper  frown  on  his  hard  face,  while 
one  of  the  younger  members  proceeded  to  put  the  matter  in 
a  more  courteous,  but  by  no  means  more  favorable  light. 

He  insisted  that  a  change  of  organists  at  that  time  would 
be  decidedly  unpopular,  as  everybody  was  charmed  with 
Miss  Masterman's  "superb  performance."  which  was  one  of 
the  great  attractions  of  the  church  to  uninterested  people  ; 
while  he  more  than  hinted  that  the  money  that  would  go  to 
pay  a  salaried  organist  would  be  much  more  wisely  expended 
in  certain  decorations,  really  needed  for  the  embellishment 
of  the  building  itself. — a  stained  glass  window  for  instance, 
would  add  greatly  to  its  beauty  and  worth,  besides  being  in 
itself  a  study  of  art  that  would  go  far  towards  educating 
the  tastes  of  the  young. 

The  minister  had  listened  with  ill  concealed  disgust  to 
the  ungenerous  fiat  of  the  rough  farmer,  nor  did  his  brow 
unknit  during  the  more  pacifically  worded  argument  of  the 
other  speaker,  but  when  reference  was  made  to  the  intended 
use  of  the  money  that  should  have  been  appropriated  to  the 
organist's  salary,  a  hot  flush  overspread  his  face,  and  the 
lire  of  a  tierce  indignation,  mingled  with  something  of  self- 
contempt,  burned  in  his  still,  grey  eyes.  Almost  uncon- 
sciously he  looked  across  the  lines  of  upturned,  half  indif- 
ferent faces,  to  where  in  the  dusky  background  the  father 
of  Minerva  Masterman  sat.  studiedly  silent,  but  with  every 
sense  on  the  alert  to  throw  his  overwhelming  influence  into 
the  possibly  wavering  balances,  and,  as  by  a  touch,  the 
scales     of    an   honest    unsuspiciousness    dropped    from     his 


176     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

eyes,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  how  artfully  he  had  been 
inveigled  into  actually  helping  to  foster  the  enthusiasm  for 
church  adornments  in  his  people,  that  had  made  the  pos- 
session of  a  painted  window  a  matter  of  far  greater  moment 
to  them  than  even  the  divine  reminder : 

"A  father  of  the  fatherless,  and  a  judge  of  the  widow,  is 
God  in  His  holy  habitation.'' 

It  was  too  late  now  to  undo  the  work  that  he  had  so  un- 
suspiciously helped  to  forward,  and  he  realized,  with  a  pang 
of  bitter  disappointment,  that  any  farther  urging  of  the 
matter  would  be  worse  than  useless, — -he  must  be  patient, 
and  bide  his  time  if  he  would  succeed  in  his  plan  of  help- 
ing the  friendless  pair,  whose  sad  condition  weighed  so 
heavily  upon  his  kindly  heart. 

At  home  however,  he  found  a  ready  sympathizer  in  his 
good  landlady,  who  had  sat  up  long  past  her  usual  hour  to 
hear  his  report  of  the  meeting,  and  keep  hot  the  comforting 
cup  of  coffee,  which,  with  a  woman's  shrewdness,  she  had 
foreseen  his  special  need  of. 

uIt's  a  shame — a  burnin'  shame  !"  she  repeated  indig- 
nantly, when  the  result  was  made  known  to  her,  "and," — 
her  very  cap  border  bristling  with  honest  indignation.  —  "it's 
two-thirds  the  doin's  of  that  smooth-faced  cat  over  the  way. 
You  needn't  shake  yer  head  at  me,  Mr.  Flanders,  I  know 
what  I  know,  and  I  say  that  she  hates  Nora  Hamlin  worse'n 
pizen.  Didn't  she  go  to  Mis'  Hamlin  an  stir  'er  up  with 
some  kind  of  a  cock-an'-bull  story  about  your  plannin'  to 
call  there  an'  give  'em  a  blowin'  up  because  they  was  livin' 
in  the  meetin'-house?  I  told  Nora  there  wa'n't  a  word  o' 
truth  in  it,  but  her  mother  was  so  nervous  and  kind  o'  shook 
up  that  we  both  thought  you'd  better  not  call  on  'er  till  she 
felt  a  little  stronger." 


CHURCH    MICE.  1  <  < 

"Did  Miss  Masterman  tell  such  a — that  is,  did  she  mis- 
represent rne  to  them  like  that  ?" 

There  was  a  dangerous  light  in  the  speaker's  eyes,  and 
he  set  his  coffee  cup  down  upon  the  table  with  a  force  that 
made  Mrs.  Beezely's  housewifely  nerves  shiver  apprehen- 
sively,—  (she  had  had  the  set  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
and  not  a  piece  broken  yet.) 

'•Yes,  she  did  !  (Look  out  f 'r  that  cup,  Mr.  Flanders,  it's 
a  leetle  too  nigh  the  edge  o'  the  table  f 'r  safety.)  You  see, 
's  long  's  her  father  lived,  Nora  Hamlin  had  the  best  there 
was  goin'  in  the  way  of  learnin'  an'  dresses  an'  privileges 
of  all  kinds  ;  while  Masterman,  who  was  jest  gettin'  on  his 
feet,  had  ter  keep  his  family  pretty  snug  f 'r  a  number  o' 
years.  Minervy  was  always  proud  as  a  peacock,  and  it 
galled  'er  terribly  to  have  any  other  girl  go  ahead  of  'er. 
That's  where  the  mischief  begun,  and  now  that  she's  up. 
an  Nora  dozvn,  she  jest  glories  in  bein'  able  to  look  over 
her  head." 

"But  Mrs.  Masterman,"  began  the  young  man. 

His  companion  caught  eagerly  at  the  words  : 

"Yes,  Lib  has  been  a  friend  indeed,  and  a  good  friend 
too.  I  don't  know  what  they  would  'a  done  this  winter  if 
she  hadn't  stood  by  'em,  carry  in'  Mis'  Hamlin  in  all  kinds 
o'  delicacies,  and  settin'  with  'er  on  the  days  that  Nora  had 
ter  go  to  her  music  scholars. 

She  could  do  it  better'n  anybody  else,  f 'r  Mis' Hamlin's 
run  of  a  notion  that  she's  Lib  Tracy  still  and  she  gives  off 
her  orders  jest  as  she  used  to  when  Lib  lived  there  and 
waited  on  'er.  She'll  send  'er  for  this  an'  that,  and  some- 
times she'll  scold  'er  because  she  can't  find  things  that's 
been  worn  out  or  lost  years  ago.  It  don't  do  no  good  to 
reason  with  'er,  and  Lib  is  jest  es  respectful  and  patient  es 
if  she  was  the  bound  girl  that  she  used  ter  be.' 


178     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

It  was  only  a  few  evenings  after  the  church  meeting  that 
as  the  minister  sat  alone  in  his  study,  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  a  hand  fumbling  with  the  latch  of 
his  door,  which,  when  opened,  revealed  the  misshapen  form 
and  dark,  shrewd  face  of  "Lib"  Masterman,  who,  hurriedly 
availing  herself  of  his  invitation  to  enter,  dropped  into  a 
chair  by  the  fireside,  and  without  a  word  bent  her  knotty 
hands  to  catch  the  genial  warmth,  while  the  coarse  shawl 
that,  country  fashion,  she  had  worn  over  her  head,  dropped 
upon  her  shoulders  and  revealed  a  face  so  troubled  and 
tearful  that  the  minister's  kind  heart  ached  for  her,  and  he 
ventured  to  ask  : 

"What  is  it,  Mrs.  Masterman?" 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  reply,  only  bending  her  head 
lower  over  the  fire,  then  a  strange  sound,  something  between 
a  moan  and  a  muttered  ejaculation,  fell  from  her  trembling 
lips  : 

''Not  that  I  I  hate  it,  Lib  is  the  better  name  for  me." 

The  young  man  drew  nearer  and  took  her  coarse  hand 
in  his. 

"My  dear  friend,  don't  be  afraid  to  trust  me  with  your 
trouble,  and  perhaps  I  can  help  you  in  some  way." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  the  half  shy,  half  ap- 
pealing look  of  an  oft-chided  child  : 

"It  ain't  7ny  trouble  exactly,  if  'twas,  I'd  grin  an  bear 
it,  same's  I  always  do.  But  I'm  dretfully  on't  about  Avis, 
(Mis'  Hamlin,  you  know).  My  folks  don't  take  much  stock 
in  the  Hamlins,  but  they  aint  never  made  no  fuss  about  my 
goin'  there  till  last  night.  Then,  he  spoke  right  up,  and 
says  he,  in  that  hard  voice  that  means  business,  T  won't 
have  you  waitin'  and  tendin'  out  on  them  church  mice  down 
there   no   longer,    and  if  I   know  of  yer  goin'   there   ag'in 


CHURCH    MICE.  179 

why,  (I'm  First  S'lectman  you  know)  and  I'll  clap  the  old 
woman  into  the  poor  house  jest  as  true  as  you  live.' 

And  what  Dave  Masterman  threatens,  that  he'll  do.  So 
what  in  the  world  can  I  do?  I've  been  studyin'  on  it  all  day, 
and  thinks  I,  at  last,  well,  I'll  run  over  and  see  if  the  min- 
ister can't  help  me  get  some  things  to  'em.  (I  could  get 
Mis'  Beezely  to  take  'em,  but — well,  I  don't  want  everybody 
to  know  that  I've  been  forbid  to  go  myself}  ." 

A  hot  flush  for  a  moment  burned  upon  her  dark  cheek, 
the  honest  blush  of  wifely  shame,  and  there  was  a  pitiful 
thrill  in  her  voice  as  she  added : 

"I've  packed  a  basket  with  things  that  I've  bought  with 
my  own  money — saved  out  of  the  allowance  that  he  makes 
me  to  dress  myself  on — and  what  I  want,  is  to  get  it  to  'em, 
somehow." 

"And  you  want  me  to  take  it  to  them?" 

Both  tone  and  look  bespoke  the  willing  messenger,  and  a 
grateful  smile  crept  over  the  woman's  tear-stained  face  as 
she  said  promptly  : 

"Yes,  that's  jest  what  I  want.  I  couldn't  ask  you  to 
take  it  by  daylight  because — " 

She  stopped  short,  with  a  look  of  painful  embarrassment 
that  her  companion  considerately  took  no  note  of,  as  he 
hastily  arrayed  himself  in  furred  cap  and  overcoat,  listening 
meanwhile  to  her  minute  directions  in  regard  to  the  precau- 
tions to  be  observed  in  the  presence  of  the  nervous,  half  de- 
mented invalid  : 

"  'Twont  do  no  hurt  to  let  'er  know  that  you're  the  min- 
ister, but  f 'r  the  life  of  ye  don't  say  a  word  about  the  new 
meetin'-house  if  you  don't  want  to  drive  her  ravin'  crazy. 
And  you  can  tell  'er  that  Lib — be  sure  and  call  me  that — '11 
be  over  as  soon  as  she  can.  You'd  better,"  she  added  sad- 
ly, "tell  Nora  why  I  can't  come.     She'll  understand  about 


180     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF   MAINE. 

it,  and  will  know  how  to  pacify  her  mother  when  she  begins 
to  fret  f 'r  me." 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  was  the  reassuring  reply,  and  lifting 
the  carefully  packed  basket,  the  young  man  bade  his  grateful 
visitor  a  cheery  adieu,  and  with  only  the  frosty  glimmer  of 
the  stars  for  company,  set  out  upon  his  lonely  walk  in  the 
direction  of  the  old  church,  whose  slender  spire,  faintly  de- 
fined against  the  cold  blue  of  the  wintry  sky,  pointed  ever 
Heavenward,  as  if  it  would  say  to  all  world  weary  souls 
below  : 

"Earth's  wrongs  shall  all  be  righted  here." 


CHURCH  MICE.  181 


CHAPTER     IV. 

••My  slippers,  if  you  please,  dear.  They're  in  the  north 
aisle,  in  the  rack  in  Deacon  Goodhue's  pew,  I  believe." 

And  as  Nora  hastened  to  bring  the  desired  articles,  and 
kneeling,  tenderly  fitted  them  to  the  small,  cold  feet,  that, 
in  spite  of  heated  bricks  and  wrappings  of  warm  flannel, 
never,  nowadays,  felt  warm  to  her  touch,  she  was  glad  that 
the  gathering  gloom  about  them  hid  her  tear-stained  face 
from  the  watchful  eyes  bending  over  her. 

For  some  reason  her  heart  was  strangely  heavy  to-night, 
and  the  bare  discomforts  of  the  place  seemed  emphasized  as 
the  cold  night  drew  on  apace,  and  through  the  uncurtained 
window  over  the  high  pulpit  the  stars  looked  in,  with  hard, 
pitiless  eyes,  while  the  rising  wind  howled  and  shrieked 
through  the  naked  tree  tops  without.  The  church  was  one 
of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  with  high  pews  on  either  side 
facing  the  center,  while  the  middle  row  dividing  the  two 
aisles  had  been  removed,  leaving  an  open  space  that  the 
present  occupants  had  partitioned  off,  by  the  help  of  quilts 
and  coverlets,  into  diminutive  sleeping  and  living  rooms. 

Everything  spoke  of  past  plenty  and  present  poverty — 
even  the  square  of  faded  and  worn  carpet  that  covered  the 
rough  board  floor  had  been  a  costly  Axminister  in  its  day, 
while  table  and  chairs  were  of  solid  mahogany  elaborately 
carved,  and  the  embroidered  coverings  of  the  latter,  in  their 
dimmed  and  dingy  splendors,  hinted  pathetically  at  the  long 
hours  of  lady-like  leisure  that  had  once  been  enjoyed  by  the 
petted  daughter  of  the  rich  mill  owner. 


182     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

The  great,  high  posted  bedstead,  with  its  rich  hangings 
frayed  and  fretted  by  time,  occupied  the  only  available  space 
directly  in  front  of  the  tall  box  pulpit,  and  contrasted  oddly 
enough  with  the  dingy,  mould  bespattered  ceiling,  from 
which,  here  and  there,  the  plaster  had  fallen,  leaving  dark, 
mysterious  depths,  from  which  arose  a  damp,  unhealthy 
chill,  that  all  the  warmth  from  the  well  filled  stove — packed 
though  it  was  with  goodly  logs  of  oak  and  beech— could  not 
entirely  dispel. 

The  high  galleries  that  ran  round  three  sides  of  the  build- 
ing lay  in  dusky  shadows,  but  as  Nora  lighted  her  lamp 
and  placed  it  upon  the  table  in  the  center  of  the  open  space, 
the  illumined  circle  all  at  once  assumed  an  air  of  cheery 
homeliness,  and  as  the  soft  glow  danced  upon  the  quaint 
china,  bringing  out  its  delicate  tints  of  pink  and  gold,  and 
emphasizing  the  snowy  whiteness  of  the  well  darned  square 
of  old  damask  that  covered  the  small  tea  table,  it  really 
seemed  as  if  living  in  an  old,  tumble  down  meeting-house, 
might  not  be  such  a  dreadful  thing  after  all. 

Even  Nora's  sad  heart  grew  hopeful  once  more  as  she 
saw  with  what  an  unwonted  relish  her  mother  ate  of  the 
delicate  toast,  and  sipped  approvingly  the  tea  that  "Lib's" 
affectionate  forethought  had  provided  them  with. 

"You  really  seem  like  yourself  to-night,  motherdie,"  she 
declared  with  a  cheery  smile,  as  with  loving  watchfulness 
she  drew  a  little  closer  the  scarlet  shawl  that  shielded  her 
mother's  frail  shoulders  from  the  unavoidable  draught. 

"This  long,  long  winter  is  almost  over  now."  I  noticed 
to-day  that  the  willows  were  growing  quite  yellow  in  some 
sheltered  places  ;  and  the  elm  tops  wear  that  misty  purple 
look  that  is  always  one  of  the  first  signs  of  Spring." 

Her  mother's  smile  was  brighter  than  it  had  been  for 
many  a  day.   "Yes,  the  very  last  time  that  Lib  was   here 


CHURCH    MICE.  183 

she  brought  nie  a  spray  of  pussy  willow  with  the  grey  fur 
beginning  to  show  at  every  tip.  It  won't  be  many  weeks 
no~jj  before  the  liverworts  are  out,  and  I  shall  be  so  glad  to 
see  them." 

There  was  something  pitiably  childlike  and  helpless  in 
the  weak  tones,  but  to  Nora  this  mood  was  far  less  sad  than 
the  wild,  unnatural  vagaries  in  which  her  weakened  mind 
was  so  prone  to  indulge. 

'•Poor  Lib  !"  she  went  on,  following  out  the  line  of 
thought  suggested  by  the  familiar  name,  "I  do  hope  Mas- 
terman  greats  her  well.  But  they're  a  funny  couple  ! — yes, 
a  funny  couple." 

And  she  laughed  so  merrily  that  all  the  dusky,  cobwebbed 
spaces  about  them  caught  up  the  unwonted  sound  and 
echoed  it  back  with  a  grim,  ghostly  indistinctness,  that 
made  Xora  shudder  and  glance  apprehensively  at  the 
sound-haunted  galleries. 

Her  mother  saw  the  look,  and  with  the  mischievous  per- 
verseness  of  a  diseased  intellect,  caught  her  up  sharply  : 

4 'Children  and  cowards  are  afraid  of  the  dark,"  she  said, 
with  a  superior  ail  that  made  her  listener  smile  in  spite  of 
herself.  "But  for  my  part  it  is  a  positive  satisfaction  to 
me  to  sit  here  and  with  my  eyes  shut  hear  old  Deacon 
Goodhue's  ghost  droning : 

•Plunged  in  a  gulf  of  dark  despair.' 

And  there  isn't  a  single  night  that  Aunty  Farrell  don't 
carry  me  back  to  other  days  with  her — 'Brethren  and 
sisters,  I  s'pose  I'm  about  as  mean  an'  wicked  a  old  crea- 
ture, as  you'lltind  anywhere,  but,  thank  the  Lord  !  sech  as  I 
be,  I'm  ready  to  own  up  to  it  every  time.'  " 

'•Oh  mother,  don't  /"  groaned  the  girl,  half  laughing,  yet 
ready  to  cry  with  nervous  excitement. 


184     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

UI  don't  see  what  puts  such  dreadful  things  into  your 
mind.  What  with  the  loneliness  and  gloom,  and  those 
dreadful  rats — "  (as  a  tremendous  rattle  and  clatter  in  the 
walls  made  her  start  and  shiver  with  sudden  fright,)  "it  is 
eerie  enough  without  bringing  up  any  unnecessary  spectres." 

Mrs.  Hamlin  put  her  head  upon  one  side  with  a  whimsi- 
cal pretence  of  listening  intently. 

uOh,  the  rats?  They  are  rather  noisy  to  be  sure, — but 
do  you  know,  I  think  I  have  found  out  where  they  all  came 
from." 

She  nodded  mysteriously,  and  Nora,  to  humor  her,  asked, 
with  an  affectation  of  interest : 

'•  Where  was  it?" 

The  sick  woman  lifted  one  slender  forefinger,  and  shook 
it  warningly  : 

•'Mind,  it's  a  secret. — for  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  be 
the  one  to  destroy  such  an  old  myth, — but  in  that  story  of 
the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  you  know  it  is  claimed  that  all 
the  rats  were  dro-joned?  Well,  I've  found  out  that  that  is 
all  a  mistake, — the  Piper  sent  them  here  instead." 

"Rattle-te-bang  !"  went  the  rats,  as  if  willing  to  lend 
their  support  to  this  very  original  theory,  and  "creak-creak" 
upon  the  snowy  walk  outside  sounded  the  footsteps  of  an 
approaching  visitor.  It  was  a  man's  tread,  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin grasped  her  daughter's  arm  in  a  tremor  of  unreasoning 
terror. 

•'It's  Dave  Masterman  !  Oh  Nora,  don't  let  him  drive 
us  away,  and  take  me  to  the  poorhouse.  Swear  we're  rich 
— yes  rolling  in  gold  ;  and  tell  him  that  we  are  only  living 
her^  because  we're  eccentric,  whimsical, — anything  that 
will  make  him  go  away  and  leave  us  alone."  And  her  frail 
form  trembled  and  shook  like  a  leaf  with  the  violence  of 
those  fears  that  Nora  could  not,  with  all  her  reasonings  and 


CHURCH    MICE. 


185 


promises,  succeed  in  quieting,  until  the  intruder  had,  after 
knocking  repeatedly  upon  the  outer  door,  begun  to  wonder 
at  the  inexplicable  delay. 

"Were  they  timid  about  opening  their  doors  in  the  even- 
ing?" he  asked  himself,  "or — " 

As  if  in  reply  to  his  unspoken  query,  a  slender,  girlish  form 
appeared  all  at  once  in  the  doorway,  holding  aloft  a  candle, 
whose  flickering  light  but  faintly  revealed  the  softly  rounded 
outlines  of  a  face,  whose  only  distinct  feature  was  a  pair  of 
dark,  wonder-wide  eyes,  that  looked  at  him  for  an  instant, 
with  something  of  alarm  as  well  as  surprise  in  their  clear 
depths. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Flanders,  will  you  come  in?" 
It  was  very  pleasant,  the  softened  tone  of  recognition  in 
which  the  concluding  words  were  spoken,  and  the  young 
man  found  time  even  then,  to  wonder  where  this  fair  girl 
could  have  become  so  familiar  with  his  face  as  to  recognize 
it  so  readily  in  that  dim,  uncertain  light,  thus  relieving  him 
from  the  necessity  of  introducing  himself,  a  ceremony  that, 
with  a  diffidence  for  which  he  could  not  account,  he  had 
been  dreading  all  the  way  over. 

It  was  very  pleasant  too  to  linger  for  a  moment  in  the 
vestibule,  notwithstanding  the  cold  winds  that  blew  in  at  a 
hundred  crevices,  flaring  the  candle  dangerously,  and  pinch- 
ing poor  Nora's  undefended  ears,  as  she  listened  patiently 
to  ktLib's"  private  message,  which,  truth  compels  us  to  say, 
was  by  no  means  so  concisely  and  briefly  delivered  as  it 
should  have  been  under  the  circumstances.  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  her  own  bodily  discomforts,  his  girlish  listener 
didn't  seem  in  the  least  impatient  or  out  of  humor. 

The  messenger  of  a  friend,  he  came  as  a  friend,  and  No- 
ra, unconventional  and  innocent  as  the  doves  that  nested  in 

the  bare  rafters  overhead,  and  cooed  a  soft  approval  of  the 
13 


184     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"I  don't  see  what  puts  such  dreadful  things  into  your 
mind.  What  with  the  loneliness  and  gloom,  and  those 
dreadful  rats — "  (as  a  tremendous  rattle  and  clatter  in  the 
walls  made  her  start  and  shiver  with  sudden  fright,)  "it  is 
eerie  enough  without  bringing  up  any  unnecessary  spectres." 

Mrs.  Hamlin  put  her  head  upon  one  side  with  a  whimsi- 
cal pretence  of  listening  intently. 

"Oh,  the  rats ?  They  are  rather  noisy  to  be  sure, — but 
do  you  know,  I  think  I  have  found  out  where  they  all  came 
from." 

She  nodded  mysteriously,  and  Nora,  to  humor  her,  asked, 
with  an  affectation  of  interest : 

"Where  was  it?" 

The  sick  woman  lifted  one  slender  forefinger,  and  shook 
it  warningly  : 

"Mind,  it's  a  secret, — for  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  be 
the  one  to  destroy  such  an  old  myth, — but  in  that  story  of 
the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  you  know  it  is  claimed  that  all 
the  rats  were  drowned?  Well,  I've  found  out  that  that  is 
all  a  mistake, — the  Piper  sent  them  here  instead." 

"Rattle-te-bang  !"  went  the  rats,  as  if  willing  to  lend 
their  support  to  this  very  original  theory,  and  "creak-creak" 
upon  the  snowy  walk  outside  sounded  the  footsteps  of  an 
approaching  visitor.  It  was  a  man's  tread,  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin grasped  her  daughter's  arm  in  a  tremor  of  unreasoning 
terror. 

"It's  Dave  Masterman  !  Oh  Nora,  don't  let  him  drive 
us  away,  and  take  me  to  the  poorhouse.  Swear  we're  rich 
— yes  rolling  in  gold  ;  and  tell  him  that  we  are  only  living 
hero  because  we're  eccentric,  whimsical, — anything  that 
will  make  him  go  away  and  leave  us  alone."  And  her  frail 
form  trembled  and  shook  like  a  leaf  with  the  violence  of 
those  fears  that  Nora  could  not,  with  all  her  reasonings  and 


CHURCH    MICE. 


185 


promises,  succeed  in  quieting,  until  the  intruder  had.  after 
knocking  repeatedly  upon  the  outer  door,  begun  to  wonder 
at  the  inexplicable  delay. 

••Were  they  timid  about  opening  their  doors  in  the  even- 
ing?" he  asked  himself,  ;ior — " 

Afl  if  in  reply  to  his  unspoken  query,  a  slender,  girlish  form 
appeared  all  at  once  in  the  doorway,  holding  aloft  a  candle, 
whose  flickering  light  but  faintly  revealed  the  softly  rounded 
outlines  of  a  face,  whose  only  distinct  feature  was  a  pair  of 
dark,  wonder-wide  eyes,  that  looked  at  him  for  an  instant, 
with  something  of  alarm  as  well  as  surprise  in  their  clear 
depths. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Flanders,  will  you  come  in?"' 
It  was  very  pleasant,  the  softened  tone  of  recognition  in 
which  the  concluding  words  were  spoken,  and  the  young 
man  found  time  even  then,  to  wonder  where  this  lair  girl 
could  have  become  so  familiar  with  his  face  as  to  recognize 
it  so  readilv  in  that  dim,  uncertain  light,  thus  relieving  him 
from  the  necessity  of  introducing  himself,  a  ceremony  that, 
with  a  diffidence  for  which  he  could  not  account,  he  had 
been  dreading  all  the  way  over. 

It  was  very  pleasant  too  to  linger  for  a  moment  in  the 
vestibule,  notwithstanding  the  cold  winds  that  blew  in  at  a 
hundred  crevices,  flaring  the  candle  dangerously,  and  pinch- 
ing poor  Nora's  undefended  ears,  as  she  listened  patiently 
to  ••  Lib's"  private  message,  which,  truth  compels  us  to  say, 
was  by  no  means  so  concisely  and  briefly  delivered  as  it 
should  have  been  under  the  circumstances.  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  her  own  bodily  discomforts,  his  girlish  listener 
didn't  seem  in  the  least  impatient  or  out  of  humor. 

The  messenger  of  a  friend,  he  came  as  a  friend,  and  No- 
ra, unconventional  and  innocent  as  the  doves  that   nested  in 

the  bare  rafters  overhead,  and  cooed  a  soft  approval  of  the 
13 


186      RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

tableau  below,  never  dreamed  that  a  long  and  intimate  ac- 
quaintance was  at  all  necessary  before  it  would  be  prudent 
for  her  to  confide  her  perplexities  to  this  friendly  stranger. 

••You  know  of  course,  that  my  mother  is  ill  and  nervous, 
and  not  always  quite  right  in  her  mind,  so  you  need  not  be 
surprised  at  any  fancy  that  she  may  take  at  the  sight  of  a 
stranger." 

He  nodded  reassuringly,  and  half  reluctantly  she  led  the 
way  into  the  lighted  interior,  the  threshold  of  which  they 
had  scarcely  crossed,  when  a  shrill,  high  pitched  voice 
called  out  imperiously  : 

"A  stranger?  What  dost  thou  require?" 
The  young  man  stared  in  surprise,  not  unmixed  with 
amusement  at  the  absurdity  of  the  salutation,  at  the  tall, 
thin  figure,  shrouded  in  the  scarlet  shawl  that  she  had  gath- 
ered about  her  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  while  the  stray  grey 
locks  that  neither  comb  nor  band  could  control,  fairly  bris- 
tled with  defiant  terror. 

Nora  hastened  to  her  side,  and  gently  forced  her  back 
into  her  chair,  while  in  soothing  tones  she  tried  to  make 
her  understand  who  the  unexpected  guest  was,  and  the  rea- 
son for  his  visit  at  that  time. 

"It  is  Mr.  Flanders,  the  new  minister  at  the  village,  you 
have  heard  Lib  speak  of  him?  And  he  came  to-night  with  a 
message  from  her,  because  she  couldn't  come  herself,  and 
was  afraid  you  might  fret  for  her  if  you  didn't  hear." 

Gradually  the  excited  woman  became  quiet,  and  gra- 
ciously condescended  to  notice  the  stranger  with  a  greater 
show  of  cordiality  than  she  was  won't  to  bestow  even  upon 
the  few  who  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her  in  her  strange 
quarters. 

"And  so  you  came  on  Lib's  account?"  and  she  surveyed 
him  with  the  mildly  contemplative  air  of  a  naturalist  taking 
notes  of  a  new  and  possibly  interesting  "specimen." 


CHURCH    MICE. 


is: 


"Ah,  well!  Lib  is  a  good,  faithful  creature,  rather  un- 
couth in  her  ways,  to  be  sure,  and  terribly  faulty  in  her 
grammar  and  pronunciation,  but  true  and  sound  to  the  core. 
The  only  trouble  is,  she  is  losing  her  me?nory  dreadfully. 
I  hate  to  think  so,  but  of  late  it  has  been  so  noticeable  that 
I  really  couldn't  shut  my  eyes  to  it.  Why.  only  the  other 
day  I  sent  her  to  get  my  set  of  opals — my  husband's  wed- 
ding gift— and  do  you  believe,  she  came  back  and  declared 
she  couldn't  find  them.  Why.  if  she's  put  them  away 
once,  she  has  a  hundred  times,  in  the  left  drawer  of  my 
dressing  case." 

And  so.  for  an  hour  or  more,  the  poor  soul  maundered 
on,  pleased  with  herself,  her  listener,  and  more  than  all 
with  the  iimiy  fancies  that  her  weakened  brain  conjured  up. 
Nora,  seated  by  the  little  stand,  her  fair  face  bent  intently 
over  her  sewing,  said  little,  but  by  some  subtile  instinct 
the  young  man  divined  that  his  presence  was  by  no  means 
unwelcome,  and  that  his  patient  humoring  of  the  sick  wo- 
man's wayward  fancies  had  been  gratefully  appreciated, 
although  no  word  of  thanks  escaped  those  shy,  sweet  lips. 

It  was  enough  that,  at  parting,  she  added  her  own  invi- 
tation to  the  really  cordial  one  vouchsafed  by  her  mother, 
to  repeat  his  visit  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 

And  as  the  lagging  spring  with  snow-shod  feet  crept 
lazily  over  the  bleak  New  England  hills,  the  frail  life  whose 
strength  that  long  winter  of  privation  and  sickness  had  so 
sorely  tried,  grew  weaker  day  by  day,  and  when  the  willows 
by  the  brook  hung  out  their  gray  and  gold  tassels,  and  the 
maple  branch  that,  all  through  those  long,  desolate  months, 
had  tapped  with  bare,  frozen  fingers  upon  the  window  at 
her  bed's  head,  grew  rosy  red  with  tips  like  glowing  coral, 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  the  end  was  fast  approaching, 
and  that  lon°-  before  the  longed  for  summer  came,  the  worn 


188     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

out  body  would  be  sleeping  its  last  sleep  in  the  little  church- 
yard, where  father,  mother  and  husband  had,  years  before, 
lain  them  down  in  that  dreamless  slumber  that  no  earthly 
fret  or  care  can  ever  disturb.  A  few  kindly  souls  like  good 
Mrs.  Beezely  had  put  aside  their  unreasoning  prejudices, 
and  in  a  hundred  delicate,  thoughtful  ways,  had  helped  to 
lighten  the  burden  of  the  sorrowing  daughter,  and  through 
her,  to  make  the  sick  woman's  last  days  as  comfortable  as 
possible. 

But  while  Nora,  sincerely  grateful  for  their  kindly  sympa- 
thy, found  something  of  solace  in  it  for  her  sorrow,  her 
mother  would  have  neither  their  presence  nor  their  favors. 

"Mr.  Flanders  is  the  only  visitor  that  I  care  to  see,"  was 
her  invariable  reply  to  any  offered  service  on  the  part  of 
the  villagers.  And  day  after  day  the  young  clergyman  sat 
by  that  sick  bed,  in  the  midst  of  those  strange  surroundings, 
soothing,  cheering  and  strengthening  the  wavering  faith  that, 
in  this  hour  of  mental  and  bodily  weakness,  was  subject  to 
frequent  moods  of  darkness  and  distrust. 

There  were  days  when  she  would  seem  like  herself  for 
the  time,  and  the  half  playful  sobriquet  that  in  one  of  these 
lucid  intervals,  she  had  bestowed  upon  her  new  friend, 
touched  his  heart  deeply  with  its  quaint  appropriateness. 

''You  are  like  Mr.  Greatheart  whom  the  Lord  of  the 
Pilgrims  sent  to  comfort  and  protect  Christiana  and  her 
children  on  their  way  to  the  Celestial  City,"  she  whispered 
softly,  and  laying  her  thin,  pale  hand  with  a  shyly  caress 
ing  touch  upon  his  arm,  "But  I  think  I'm  almost  through 
with  my  valley  of  Humiliation,"  she  added,  smiling  a  little 
sadly,  "and  I  hope  you  won't  let  go  my  hand  when  I  come 
to  the  dark  river— I  shall  need  you  most  of  all  then" 

"I  will  go  with  you  as  far  as  flesh  and  blood  may  go," 
he  responded   firmly,  although  his  eyes    were   misty   with 


CHURCH    MICE.  189 

tears,  and  he  resolutely  refrained  from  even  a  glance  at  the 
bowed  head  at  the  bed's  foot,  lest  the  sight  of  her  grief 
should  unman  him  for  the  duty  before  him. 

Poor  Mrs.  Masterman  was  almost  distracted  with  grief  at 
her  banishment  from  the  bedside  of  her  dying  friend,  al- 
though out  of  regard  for  her  feelings,  the  young  clergyman 
refrained  from  giving  her  the  daily,  almost  hourly  messages 
sent  by  him,  in  which  commands,  reproaches  and  tender  re- 
minders were  strangely  mingled.  But  the  day  came  at  last 
when  the  loyal  love  of  years  cast  aside  every  consideration 
of  prudence  and  wifely  submission,  and  with  tearful  deter- 
mination the  good  woman  declared  her  intention  of  sharing 
the  last  vigils  beside  the  bedside  of  this  dear  friend  of  her 
girlhood. 

"She's  too  far  gone  now,"  she  sobbed,  "for  Masterman 
to  carrv  out  his  threat,  and  as  f 'r  me,  a  few  hard  words  more 
or  less  don't  signify.  He  can't  more'n  kill  me,"  she  added 
pathetically,  "and  I'd  rather  die,  when  it  comes  ter  that, 
than  not  look  upon  Avis  Metcalfe  livin'  face  once  more." 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  with  the  falling  of  the  early 
twilight  the  two  should  set  out  together  for  that  dreaded 
yet  longed-for  visit  that  must  in  all  human  probability  be 
their  last. 

Mrs.  Beezelv.  who  had  been  spending  the  afternoon  at  the 
old  church,  appeared  at  the  tea  table  with  tear-swollen  eyes, 
and  the  sad  announcement : 

"The  poor  soul  is  goin'  fast — she  won't  last  longer  'n  the 
turn  o'  the  night." 

It  had  been  a  damp,  chilly,  uncomfortable  day,  and  as 
the  night  closed  in,  a  thick  grey  mist  rose  from  the  river, 
shrouding  every  object  in  its  damp  folds  and  giving  a  strange 
spectral  look  to  the  familiar  landscape,  as  Mr.  Flanders  and 
his  companion  silently  picked  their  way  through  the  melting 


190     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

snow  and  slush  that  obstructed  the   river   road,    making  it 
almost  impassable  for  any  but  foot  travellers. 

The  ice  had  been  breaking  up  all  day,  and  as  they  paused 
for  a  moment  just  outside  the  village  to  take  breath  and 
get  their  bearings  in  the  obscurity,  the  hoarse  roaring  of  the 
waters  was  almost  deafening,  and  united  with  the  crashing 
and  grinding  of  the  great  masses  of  ice  tossing  helplessly  in 
the  wildly  swirling  waters,  had  something  in  it  actually  ter- 
rific to  unused  ears. 

Mrs.  Masterman's  voice  sounded  far  off  and  faint  amidst 
the  ceaseless  roar,  while  there  was  a  note  of  apprehension 
in  it  as  she  said:  "There's  an  awful  sight  of  ice  above 
the  dam — it's  been  pilin'  up  higher  an'  higher  all  the  after- 
noon, and  if  the  dam  should  give  way — Lord  help  us  !  half 
the  village  'd  go." 

Her  companion's  heart  gave  a  quick  bound  and  he  strained 
his  eyes  to  get  a  look  at  the  foaming,  tossing  waves,  that 
like  white-maned  lions,  leaped  fiercely  up  from  the  inky 
depths  below,  only  to  be  swallowed  the  next  instant  in  the 
black  gaping  abyss  from  which  they  sprang. 

"Do  you  suppose  there  is  really  any  danger?"  he  asked 
anxiously,  remembering  all  at  once  that  he  had  seen  groups 
of  idle  and  evidently  disturbed  men  hanging  about  the  river 
bank  and  talking  low  and  hurriedly  together  all  the  after- 
noon. Could  it  be  that  the  disaster  that  the  rich  mill  owner 
had  heretofore  scouted  the  possibility  of,  was  actually  about 
to  overtake  him  ? 

Mrs.  Masterman  paused  for  a  full  minute  before  she  an- 
swered his  question,  and  then  it  was  with  evident  reluctance 
that  she  spoke  :  ' '  'Taint  f  'r  me  to  say  whether  there  is  or 
aint  any  danger  ;  but  I've  had  queer  feelin's  of  late,  as  if 
somethin'  dretful  was  goin'  to  happen.  Minervy  and  her 
father  think  I'm  only  a  silly,  notional  old  woman,  but  some- 


CHURCH    MICE.  191 

how  I  can't  shake  off  the  creepy  feelin'  that  comes  over  me 
when  I  hear  the  river  roarin'  as  it  does  to-night,  and  re- 
member that  'twas  jest  twenty  years  ago  this  very  night 
that  old  Squire  Metcalf  died,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  could 
hear  him  now,  whisperin'  through  his  stiffenin'  lips  : 

'I  trust  you  Lib  never  to  let  my  child  want  for  a  friend.'  " 
"I'm  sure  you've  tried  your  best  to  fulfil  the  trust,"  re- 
sponded her  companion,  and  without  further  comment,  the 
two  passed  on,  nor  spoke  again  until  through  the  mists,  a 
pale,  nickering  light  from  the  windows  of  the  old  church 
gave  the  welcome  signal  that  their  tiresome  walk  was  almost 
over. 

Slowly,  wearily  the  hours  of  that  sad  night  slipped  by  ; 
ten,  eleven,  twelve  sounded  from  the  tall  old-fashioned  clock 
in  the  corner,  and  still  that  white,  thin  face  upon  the  pillow 
wore  the  same  frozen,  changeless  calm,  while  from  the  pale 
lips  only  a  faint  sigh,  now  and  then,  told  to  the  silent 
watchers  about  her  bed  that  the  soul  still  lingered  in  its 
frail  tenement  of  flesh. 

It  was  no  time  now  for  words  of  comfort,  as  Paul  Flan- 
ders sadly  realized.  No  warm  human  touch  had  power  to 
arrest  those  feet  already  pressing  the  sands  of  the  dark  river, 
while  the  death  dulled  ear  was  for  the  first  time  unheedful 
of  Love's  soft  whisper,  or  of  the  hot  tears  that  fell  like 
summer  rain  upon  her  still  face. 

It  was  scarcely  past  midnight,  and  the  muffled  roar  of 
the  river  alone  broke  the  awful  stillness,  when  all  at  once,  a 
heavy  footfall  sounded  in  the  porch  without,  and  the  next 
moment  the  door  was  flung  rudely  open  and  the  burly  form 
of  Masterman  strode  half  way  across  the  nave,  where, 
checking  his  steps  and  shading  his  eyes  with  one  hand  from 
the  light,  he  glanced  sharply  about  him  until  his  gaze  fell 
upon  the  form  of  his  terrified  wife,  who,  having  risen  from 


192     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

her  seat  at  the  bed's  head,  had  advanced  a  few  steps,  with 
uplifted  palms,  as  if  to  ward  off  his  farther  approach. 

'•What  did  I  tell  you?"  he  growled,  in  a  voice  hoarse 
with  passion,  and  lifting  his  clenched  hand,  he  shook  it 
menacingly. 

"I  mistrusted  I'd  find  you  here,  you  traitor  !  And  now,  by 
the  living  God  that  made  us,  I'll — " 

He  stopped,  abashed  and  horror  stricken,  and  stared  with 
wide  open  eyes  at  the  death-white  face  of  the  dying  woman, 
who,  in  his  angry  excitement,  he  had  not  before  seen.  But 
his  loud  tones  had,  for  an  instant,  had  the  power  to  call  back 
the  outward  bound  spirit,  and  the  death-dimmed  eyes  slowly 
unclosed,  while  a  smile,  so  sweet  and  restful  that  none  who 
saw  ever  forgot  it,  played  for  a  moment  about  the  pale  lips 
as  they  softly  murmured  : 

"In  my  Father's — house  are — many — mansions."  The 
soft  voice  died  away  into  eternal  silence,  houseless  and 
homeless  here,  she  rested  at  last  in  the  Blessed  Mansions  of 
Eternal  Peace. 

Tenderly  passing  his  hand  over  the  sightless  eyes,  Paul 
Flanders  sank  upon  his  knees  by  the  side  of  the  weeping 
girl,  heedless  of  the  sudden  confusion,  the  loud  clang  of 
bells  that  rang  out  in  fierce  alarm  upon  the  midnight  air, 
and  the  cry  of  mingled  apprehension  and  terror  with  which 
Masterman  rushed  madly  from  the  building. 

"The  mill  bell  is  ringing,  the  dam  has  given  way,"  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Masterman,  as,  a  half  hour  later,  they  stood 
together  at  the  outer  door  listening  to  the  frightful  uproar 
whose  echoes  reached  their  ears  even  at  that  distance. 

She  spoke  with  an  indifference  that  surprised  her  listener, 
as  he  remembered  that  this  disaster  meant  great  loss,  possi- 
bly ruin  to  her  and  hers.  But  he  made  no  comment  as 
she  went  on  in  softened  tones  : 


CHURCH    MICE. 


193 


"You  had  best  send  Mis'  Beezely  over  here  right  off,  and 
if  you  will  look  out  and  see  that  all  the  preparations  f '  r 
the  funeral  are  made  decently  and  in  order,  I  wish  you 
would.  Poor  Nora  ain't  got  another  friend  in  the  world 
that  she  can  look  to  at  this  time." 

"Another  friend  that  she  can  look  to!"  did  ever  words, 
so  homely  in  themselves,  sound  so  sweet  to  mortal  ears? 
And  it  seemed  to  the  young  man  as  he  walked  swiftly 
homeward  through  the  dim  gloaming,  that  the  privilege  of 
sharing  even  sorrow  with  Nora  Hamlin  was  a  thousand 
times  more  blessed  than  all  the  solitary  joys  and  blessings 
that  even  the  happiest  life  could  give. 

In  a  few  hours  the  waters  receded,  but  they  left  among 
other  ruins  that  of  the  new  church,  whose  flimsey  propor- 
tions were  unable  to  withstand  the  force  of  the  freshet,  and 
went  down— painted  window  and  all — into  one  ignominious 
wreck. 

Then,  when  men  had  time  to  look  about  them,  and  col- 
lect their  scattered  wits,  the  church  question  naturally  arose 
as  an  important  one,  and  now,  as  before,  the  voice  of  Dave 
Masterman  decided  the  matter,  once  for  all : 

"Fellow  citizens,"  he  said,  rising  to  his  feet  with  a  slow 
dignity  that  was  impressive  in  itself : 

"I'm  a  poorer  man  by  ten  thousand  dollars  than  I  was 
six  weeks  ago,  but  if  you'll  vote  to  buy  the  old  church  of 
Squire  Metcalf  s  heir,  and  fit  it  up  in  good  shape,  I'll  give  a 
thousand  dollars  towards  it  to  begin  with,  and  if  you  come 
short  I'll  agree  to  make  it  up  out  of  my  own  pocket." 

There  is  always  good  metal  in  the  man  whom  adversity 
improves,  and  when,  upon  the  occasion  of  the  minister's 
marriage  to  pretty  Nora  Hamlin,  the  bride  opened  the  en- 
velope containing  the  wedding  gift  of  the  Mastermans,  she 
found,  beside  the  generous  sum   that  might  have    been  ex- 


194     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

pected,  a  slip  of  paper  upon  which  was  scrawled  in  Dave's 
unmistakable  chirography  : 

"That  which  he  labored  for  shall  he  restore  ;   according 
to  his  substance  shall  the  restitution  be." 


/T\arjorie  s  ^pi^t. 


marjorie's  knight.  197 


MARJORIE'S  KNIGHT. 

Up  in  the  musty,   dusty  attic  of  a  pleasant  lit.    Desert 
farm-house,  sat  Marjorie,   close    to    the    open  window   that 
looked  out  from  under  its  queer,  pointed  frontlet,  formed  of 
an  overhanging  gable,  like  an  ancient  dame  of  Bohemian 
Anne's  time,  from  her  horned  head-dress,  upon  broad,  sunny 
meadows  stretching  far  inland,  and  studded  here  and  there 
with  the  daisies  that  wanton  mother   Nature   will  scatter 
broadcast  in  spite  of  the  thrifty  farmer's  frown  ;  upon  the 
far-off  strip  of  woodland,  in  whose  grateful  shade  the  cat- 
tle idly  browsed,  or  lay  in  silent  contentment,  chewing  the 
cud  of  past  pleasures  among  the  dewy    clover  and  sweet, 
succulent  grasses,  while  scarce   a  quarter   of  a  mile   away 
the  broad,  blue  ocean  flashed  and  sparkled,  and  condescend- 
ingly bent  its  gemmed  forehead  to  the  light  morning  breeze 
that    danced    and    hovered    about  it,  like  a  gallant  of  the 
olden  time  in  attendance  upon  the  toilette  of  a  duches3. 

Marjorie's  head  was  bent  over  her  book,  and  the  soft, 
bright  color  crept  slowly  up  over  her  fair,  girlish  forehead, 
as  she  read  the,  to  her,  never  old  story  of  the  besieged  cas- 
tle of  the  cruel  Norman  baron,  of  the  gallant  Ivanhoe,  sick 
and  helpless  within,  attended  only  by  the  lovely  Jewish 
maiden,  and,  best  of  all,  the  grand  final  assault  of  the  be- 
siegers under  the  leadership  of  the  brave  Black  Knight, 
and  the  scarcely  less  heroic  Locksley,  with  his  band  of 
merry  outlaws,  whose  hardihood  and  skill  contributed  so 
greatly  towards  deciding  the  fortunes  of  the  day  in  favor  of 
right,  justice  and  imperilled  innocence. 


198     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Marjorie  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as,  in  imagination 
she  seemed  to  hear  the  triumphant  shouts  of  the  victors  : 

"For  St.  George  and  Merrie  England," 

and  the  book  slid  softly  from  her  unheeding  fingers, 
while  her  deep,  dreamy  eyes  wandered  with  a  tender 
contentedness  over  the  fair,  familiar  landscape,  and  a  smile, 
too  kind  for  disdain,  too  mischievous  for  tenderness,  curved 
her  red  lips  as  she  saw,  swinging  his  scythe  with  the  free- 
dom and  grace  that  long  practice  and  strong  arms  only  can 
give,  the  tall  figure  of  Cyrus  Harding,  their  nearest  neigh- 
bor, whose  mowing  field  was  within  full  view  of  her  favor- 
ite window. 

"If  Cyrus  could  only  have  lived  in  those  days."  she 
thought,  resting  her  dimpled  chin  upon  the  low  window 
seat  and  watching  with  lazy  interest,  the  fragrant  swaths, 
wide  and  deep,  that  lay  withering  in  the  mower's  track, 
"what  a  grand  knight  he  would  have  made  !  'Brave?'  there 
isn't  a  man  on  the  coast  more  fearless  in  storm  and  gale 
than  he.  'Gentle  and  kind  to  the  weak  and  helpless?"  see 
the  sacrifices  that  he  makes  every  day  of  his  life  for  that 
old  bedridden  stepmother,  who  made  his  boyhood  wretched, 
and  never,  by  any  chance,  gives  him  a  grateful  word  even 
now.  'True  to  God  and  his  lady  love?'  why,  he  would 
sooner  die  than  do  a  dishonorable  or  wicked  deed  and  as 
for—" 

"Marjorie!  Marjorie!  where  in  the  world  are  you, 
child?  Here's  all  them  peas  to  shell  for  dinner  ;  hurry  up, 
do  !"  rang  out  loud  and  clear  from  some  shadowy  region 
below  stairs,  and  the  dreaming  maiden  sprang  to  her  feet, 
her  cheeks  as  red  as  the  unplucked  strawberries  falling  be- 
neath Cyrus'  restless  blade,  and  something  like  shame  in 
the  now  shy  eyes  as  she  hastened  to  obey  her  mother's  call. 


marjorie's  knight.  199 

Now  good  dame  Duninore  hadn't  the  smallest  idea  of 
that  fair,  secret  chamber  in  her  child's  brain,  where  gor- 
geous fancies  ran  riot,  and  an  altar  to  noble  deeds  and 
grand,  chivalric  self-sacrifices  stood  decked  with  the  stain- 
less blossoms  of  girlish  faith  and  trust,  renewed  each  day 
by  loving  communion  with  the  great  souls  of  another  clime 
and  age. 

To  a  girl  less  sensible,  less  contented,   or  less  healthful, 
both  in  body  and  mind,  than  was  Marjorie,   this  constant 
association  with  the  lofty  and  idyllic  sentiments  of  a  chival- 
ric. vet  in  many  things,  scarce  civilized  age,  might,  prob- 
ably would,  have  been  harmful  in  more  ways  than  one.    She 
would  have  reversed  the  scriptural  simile   by  trying  to  put 
upon  the  sober,  calm-hued  garment  of  the  present,  patches 
from  the  glowing,  yet  moth-eaten  tapestries  of  the   Past ; 
thus  dimming  and  belittling  the  life  of  to-day,  that,   lived 
up  to  its   fullest   capacity,  is  capable  of   nobler,   grander, 
even  more  beautiful  possibilities  than  any  of  the  past  cen- 
turies, with  the  cobwebs  of  ignorant  superstitions  and  cruel 
prejudices  clinging  to   its  gorgeous   skirts.     But  Marjorie, 
with  all  her  enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  grand  and  heroic 
ideals  of  the  Past,  had  yet  the  rare  gift  of  separating  the 
real  from  the  fanciful ;  of  wondering  at  and  delighting  in 
the  gilded  pageantries,  the  nodding  plumes,  the  flashing  ar- 
mor and  silken  pennons,  with  their  witching  splendors  and 
hidden  mysteries,  and  then  laying  them  aside  for  the  time, 
like  some  beautiful  picture,  while  in  her  heart  the  noble  as- 
pirations, the  heroic  self-sacrifices,  and  the  patient  stead- 
fastness that  moved  those  mailed  arms  to  strike  boldly  for 
"God  and  the  Right,"  found  their  natural  soil  and    spread 
their  roots  deep  and  wide,  undisturbed  by  crowding  discon- 
tent or  fantastic  aspirations  after  the  unattainable. 


200  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

And  now,  as  she  sat  upon  the  shaded  back  porch,  her 
lap  full  of  the  pale  green  pea-pods,  busy  at  work  upon  her 
homely  task,  never  a  thought  of  discontent  or  self-pity 
marred  the  sweet  serenity  of  her  mind.  She  only  thought 
— without  thinking  that  she  was  thinking — of  how  wonder- 
fully the  wild  morning  glory,  creeping  over  the  low  rail 
fence,  had  kept  its  early  freshness  in  spite  of  the  fierce  sun- 
shine that  had  for  hours  been  showering  its  shining  arrows 
thick  and  fast  upon  it ;  and  of  the  two  brave  little  householders 
who  had  built  their  tiny  fortress  in  the  lilac  bush,  so  near 
that  she  could  almost  touch  it  with  her  hand,  and  whose 
bright,  sharp  eyes  watched  her  with  a  trustful  fearlessness 
as  she  sat  at  work,  as  much  as  to  say  : — 

uOf  course,  a  great  creature  like  you  has  better  work  on 
hand  than  to  molest  a  poor  little  hedge  sparrow  !" 

And  as  Cyrus  Harding's  work  brought  him  nearer  to  his 
neighbor's  boundary  Hue,  and  she  could  see  more  distinctly 
his  sun-browned,  handsome  face,  she  smiled,  with  a  kind  of 
tender  mischievousness,  at  the  odd  fancies  that  just  then 
crossed  her  mind  : — 

"If,  instead  of  having  been  born  a  peaceful  farmer,  and 
using  his  strong  arms  in  mowing  down  innocent  grasses  to 
feed  to  his  cattle  through  the  long,  cold  winter,  Cyrus  had 
lived  in  those  old  days  when  the  husbandman's  toil  was  low 
and  menial,  and  a  knightly  sword  was  the  only  honorable 
blade  that  a  man  could  wield,  he  should  have  buckled  on 
armor  and  gone  to  fight  the  Saracens  in  the  far-away  Holy 
Land,  I  wonder  what  he  would  have  chosen  for  the  motto 
on  his  shield?  I  think" — with  a  glance  at  the  determined, 
self-controlled  face  of  the  young  roan — "I  think  he  would 
have  preferred  'Excelsior'  to  anything  else,  but  I'm  not 
sure  ;  I  mean  to  ask  him." 


mabjorie's  knight.  201 

And  as  the  mower  paused  a  moment  from  his  toil,  and 
leaning  against  the  old  elm  in  the  corner,  removed  his 
coarse  straw  hat  to  let  the  fresh  breeze  cool  his  hot  fore- 
head, she  ran  lightly  down  the  lane  to  where  he  was  stand- 
ing, eager  to  see  if  her  fanciful  surmise  would  prove  cor- 
rect. 

••Oh,  Cyrus  !  I  was  just  thinking  something  about  you  !" 
How  the  sunburned  face  brightened  and  the  straight-forward 
gray  eyes  grew  luminous  with  tenderness,  as  the  long-sup- 
pressed love  of  the  soul  within  glanced  for  an  instant  from 
those  tell-tale  loop-holes  in  her  earthly  tower,  then  shyly 
withdrew  herself,  as  he  asked,  with  an  effort  at  easy  pleas- 
antry : — 

••Of  me,  Marjorie?  were  you  thinking  that  at  this  rate  I 
shouldn't  get  all  my  grass  down,  in  the  field,  to-day?'* 

••Nonsense,"  and  Marjorie  pretended  to  pout  a  little.  *'I 
was  thinking  if  you  had  lived  four  or  five  centuries  ago.  and 
had  been  one  of  the  knights  that  went  to  fight  for  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  what  you  would  have  chosen  for  your  motto  or 
watchword." 

Cyrus    leaned  hard   against  the   rough    tree   trunk,    and 
looked  gravely,  questioningly  into  the  bright  girlish  face. 
••What  did y ou  think?"  he  asked. 

Marjorie's  eves  looked  the  innocent  admiration  that  an 
unawakened  heart  had  not  yet  taught  her  to  conceal. 

"Why,  I  know  how  ambitious  and  earnest  you  are  in  all 
you  undertake,  so  /  thought  'Excelsior'  would  have  been 
likelv  to  be  your  favorite  watchword." 

He  smiled,  but  there  was  no  mirth  in  his  smile,  only  the 

patient  steadfastness  of  a  determined,  yet  sorely-beset  soul. 

"I  don't  know  what  my  motto  would  have  been  in  the 

old  days  that  you  love  to  read  of,  but  I  know  what  it  is.  and 

must  be  now,  and  always — perhaps." 
14 


202     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Marjorie  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly,  but  his  eyes  were 
upon  the  ground,  and  from  his  dry  lips  came  the  low  spoken 
reply  :— 

"I  know  so  little  of  Latin  that  plain  English  must  serve 
my  turn  even  here.  It  is  fate,  destiny — whatever  pretty 
sounding  name  you  choose  to  give  it — that  forces  me  to 
square  my  life  to  fit  my  motto  :  'Not  my  own,  but 
another's.'  " 

The  girl's  fair  face  brightened  approvingly. 

"That's  a  noble,  more  unselfish  sentiment  than  the  one  I 
chose  for  you,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  with  a  half  play- 
ful, half  caressing  motion  upon  the  shapely  one  resting  upon 
the  low  fence  beside  which  they  were  standing . 

For  an  instant  the  young  man  hesitated,  then  withdraw- 
ing his  hand  from  the  touch  of  those  soft,  warm  fingers,  he 
said,  with  a  sadness  that  unsuspicious  Marjorie  could  not 
fathom  : — 

"It  may  be  noble — I  know  it  is  right,  but — oh,  Mar- 
jorie !  it  will  strip  my  life  as  bare  of  all  brightness  and  joy 
as  the  waves  have  stripped  that  beach  lying  down  there, 
white  and  dry  and  lifeless,  of  every  bit  of  life  and  verdure." 

Marjorie's  eyes  sought  his  for  an  instant  in  grave  bewil- 
derment, then  filling  slowly  with  tears  of  tenderest  sympa- 
thy, as  she  comprehended  something  of  his  meaning,  she 
said,  gently  : — 

"I  know  how  hard  it  is,  Cyrus,  and  what  a  burden  you 
have  to  bear,  and  my  heart  aches  for  you  when  I  see  you 
going,  tired  and  hungry,  back  to  the  home  that  I  know  isn't, 
and  never  has  been,  a  home  to  you  since  you  were  a  little 
child.  But  God  is  good,  and — "  the  sweet  face  was  up- 
lifted reverently,  while  a  hopeful  smile  crept  into  the  dark, 
soft  eyes — "He  will  not  let  you  bear  this  burden  forever  ;  it 
must  be  uplifted  in  time,"   she  added,  checking  herself  as 


kabjokde's  knight.  203 

she  remembered  that  only  death  in  this  rase,  could  remove 
the  weight  from  those  patient  shoulders,  that  had,  for  so 
many  years,  borne  it  with  such  uncomplaining  cheerfulness. 
He  made  no  reply  to  her  last  words,  but  as  he  resumed 
his  work  he  said  in  a  tone  so  low  that  the  words  scarcely 
reached  her  ear  above  the  sharp  click  of  the  scythe,  and 
were  so  strangely  interwoven  with  the  hum  and  whirr  of  bee 
and  grasshopper  all  around  them,  that,  for  years  afterward, 
she  never  heard  the  one  without  thinking  of  the  other. 
••Lifted  ! — but  too  late,  it  may  be." 

He  said  no  more,  not  even  looking  in  her  direction,  as. 
with  renewed  energy,  like  one  who  bravely  readjusts  the 
burden  of  life  to  shoulders  that  had,  for  an  instant,  drooped 
beneath  its  weight,  and  carries  it  strongly  and  naturally 
once  more,  he  bent  his  well-trained  limbs  to  the  familiar 
labor,  looking.  Marjorie  thought,  as  she  dreamily  watched 
him  from  the  sheltering  elm's  shadows,  like  some  strong 
armed  swimmer  in  a  sea  of  green,  whose  purple  and  white- 
capped  waves,  dancing  in  the  sunshine,  had  no  cruel  rocks 
or  treacherous  quicksands  beneath  their  smiling  surface  to 
work  him  harm. 

"Marjorie  !  Marjorie  '." 
••Yes.  mother." 

It  was  the  usual  ending  to  the  girl's  day-dreams,  but  it 
never  irritated  nor  jarred  upon  her  moods  in  the  least.  No 
home  sounds  ever  did  or  could  do  that,  for  her  daily  out- 
ward life  had  hitherto  been  in  perfect  rhythm  with  the  inner. 
The  far-off  din  of  knightly  contests,  the  love  song  of  the 
troubadour,  and  the  faint,  sweet  chime  of  convent  bells,  all 
blended  so  naturally  with  the  ever-varying,  never-old  voice 
of  the  sea  upon  the  rocky  coast  of  her  New  England  home, 
the  pleasant,  familiar  home  voices,  and  even  the  fierce, 
wintry  winds  that  roared   and    laughed   and    shouted    their 


204     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

boisterous  challenge  to  the  ever-defiant  waves,  that  she  felt 
no  incongruity,  no  disappointing  contrasts  between  them. 
One  was  as  much  a  part  of  her  life  as  the  other,  and  neither 
had  power  to  belittle  or  render  commonplace  the  other  in 
her  eyes. 

And  he — knight,  swimmer,  old  playmate  and  present 
friend  by  turn,  just  where  the  fancy  of  the  moment  chanced 
to  place  him — as  he  went  about  his  work,  silent  and  solitary, 
strove  hard,  as  he  had  done  many  and  many  a  time  before, 
to  hush  the  sweet  song  of  that  nestling  in  his  heart,  whose 
soft  note  telling  of  hope  and  love  to  which,  in  his  spotless 
young  manhood  he  surely  had  a  right,  he  had  not  the  courage 
to  turn  a  wholly  deaf  ear.      And  yet — 

He  looked  abroad  upon  the  well-tilled  acres  loaded  with 
the  summer's  bounteous  gifts  ;  the  long,  low,  comfortable 
farm-house  not  far  away,  and  to  seaward  where  the  furled 
sails  and  tapering  masts  of  his  trim  fishing  smack  gleamed 
white  against  the  blue  of  the  summer  sea,  and  the  still, 
deep  blue  of  the  summer  sky,  and  a  contented  smile  crept 
over  his  bronzed  and  bearded  face  as  he  remembered  that 
so  far  as  this  world's  goods  went,  he  was  pretty  Marjorie's 
equal  and  need  not  fear  the  parental  rebuffs  that  the  impe- 
cunious wooer  is  so  apt  to  meet. 

But  as  his  glance  came  back  to  the  brown,  many  gabled 
farm-house— his  own  birth-place  and  that  of  his  father 
before  him — the  smile  faded,  and  a  pain,  not  entirely  free 
from  bitterness,  lowered  in  his  dark  eyes  as  he  remembered 
the  miserable  woman  sheltered  beneath  its  roof,  who,  from 
his  earliest  boyhood,  had  poisoned  every  cup  of  happiness 
for  him,  and  who  now  stood  between  himself  and  the  woman 
he  loved — a  barrier  that  his  own  love  was  too  tender  and 
true  to  overpass. 


marjorie's  knight.  205 

Could  he  ask  that  girl,  scarcely  more  than  a  child  in  her 
experiences  of  life,  to  leave  the  home  of  which  she  was  the 
cherished  idol,  and  bind  herself  down  to  years,  maybe,  of 
weary  servitude  upon  his  bed-ridden  step-mother?  He 
imagined  the  grieved,  discouraged  look  growing  upon  her 
glad  voung  face  at  the  shrewish  invalid's  taunts  and  fault- 
findings :  he  remembered  his  own  weary  hours  of  thankless 
watchfulness,  his  years  of  unappreciated  toil  and  care,  and 
the  blithe  bird  song  in  his  heart  sank  to  a  low.  sobbing  mur- 
mur, that  had  little  of  hope  and  less  of  joy  in  its  sad  re- 
frain. 

••Spare  her  !      Spare  her  !" 

••Yes."  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  resolutely  bent  him  to 
his  toil.  "I  will  spare  her  the  wretchedness  and  discomfort 
that,  as  my  wife,  she  would  be  forced  to  meet.  God  help- 
ing me.  I'll  bear  my  burdens  alone  to  the  end." 

And  strangely  enough.  Marjorie's  thoughts,  as  she  leis- 
urely obeyed  her  mother's  summons,  ran  in  something  the 
same  channel  as  those  of  her  friend.  She,  too.  thought  of 
the  young  man's  hard,  loveless  lot  ;  of  the  noble  life  of  self- 
denial  and  patient  toil  which  friends  and  neighbors  mar- 
veled at  and  praised,  even  when  incapable  of  estimating 
the  greatness  of  his  sacrifices  :  of  the  cheerless,  untidy 
house  to  which  he  ever  carried  a  cheerful,  hopeful  face,  and 
in  true  womanly  fashion  she  began  to  feel  a  housewifely 
loDging  to  set  things  right  over  there  ;  to  tidy  up  the  quaint 
old  rooms,  and  restore  the  order  and  neatness  that  had 
reigned  there  before  its  capable  mistress  had  been  stricken 
down  in  the  strength  and  vigor  of  middle  age,  and  left  her 
cherished  household  goods  to  the  careless  and  irreverent 
touch  of  a  hireling. 

After  all,  there  was  some  excuse  for  Jane  Harding's  for- 
getfulness  and  impatience.     To  lie  helpless  and  idle  upon 


206      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND   SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

her  bed,  day  after  day.  and  see  the  waste  and  havoc  made 
by  incapable  help,  was  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  far 
better  woman  than  the  shrewish  mistress  of  the  Harding 
homestead,  who  was  forced  to  look  helplessly  on.  year  after 
year,  and  see  everything  going  to  destruction. 

It  is  doubtful  if  another  heart  in  all  that  neighborhood 
had  found  as  many  excuses  for  the  unpopular  woman,  in 
years,  as  Marjoiie's  tender  and  sympathetic  one  had  created 
in  the  last  few  minutes  :  for,  unsocial  and  quarrelsome  in 
health,  invalidism  had  brought  little  improvement  to  the 
sick  woman,  and  consequently  little  sympathy  for  her  was 
felt  by  her  neighbors  and  acquaintances. 

None  understood  this  better  than  did  Marjorie,  and  yet 
her  own  heart  was  very  pitiful  just  now  toward  the  unhappy 
step-mother  of  Cyrus  Harding,  as  if  some  of  the  manly  for- 
bearance and  charity  of  his  nature  had  taken  root  in  her 
own  gentler  heart,  and  bloomed  into  tender  excuse  and  pity- 
ing fancies  that  found  no  opportunity  for  speech  just  then, 
as  her  mother  hurriedly  greeted  her  with  : — 

'•Here.  Marjy  I  I  wish  you'd  pick  over  these  currants 
for  me.  It  won't  do  to  let  'em  set  any  longer  or  my  jelly 
won't  be  thicker'n  cream." 

Marjorie  received  the  pan  with  willing  hands,  and  seating 
herself  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  piazza,  from  which  she 
could  watch  both  sea  and  shore,  and  have  a  fair  view  of  the 
narrow,  grass-rimmed  highway  that  led  down  to  the  beach, 
and  was  usually  lively  with  groups  of  summer  boarders 
from  the  hotels  farther  inland,  who  found  this  a  pleasant 
promenade  when  the  view  was  not  obscured  by  fogs  or  the 
walking  rendered  disagreeable  by  dampness  or  dust.  Just 
now  two  girls,  unmistakably  metropolitan  in  dress  and  walk, 
came  strolling  aimlessly  along,  evidently  on  the  lookout  for 
something  to  interest  themselves  about,  and  pausing  as  they 


MARJORIE  S    KNIGHT. 


207 


came  opposite  the  cottage,  leaned  over  the  gate  and  looked 
long  and  curiously  at  Marjorie  and  her  surroundings. 

Naturally  Marjorie  looked  back  at  them,  taking  her  pri- 
vate observations  with  a  coolness  and  ease  that  long  ac- 
quaintance with  the  habits  of  the  fashionable  tourist  had 
given  her.  even  under  far  more  embarrassing  circumstances 
than  the  present  ones. 

She  saw  two  girl  faces,  not  many  years,  it  seemed,  older 
than  her  own.  but  already  wearing  the  signs  of  a  marked 
individuality,  as  if  each,  in  her  own  way,  had  decided  the 
question  of  life  once  for  all.  even  before  her  teens  had 
bloomed  into  the  twenties. 

The  one  with  the  fluffy,  yellow  bangs,  low  down  upon 
her  forehead,  and  the  touch  of  red  in  her  girlish  cheek,  that 
even  Marjorie  could  see  was  not  genuine,  had  a  lazy,  un- 
concerned air.  as  if.  like  the  wild  dog  roses  growing  in  the 
hedge  beside  her.  and  touching  with  shy,  rustic  wonder  the 
crisp  white  muslin  of  her  dainty  Mother  Hubbard  gown, 
she  knew  that  all  things,  storm  as  well  as  shine,  would  but 
ripen  her  delicate  charms,  and  that  the  scarlet  beauty  <:>i 
the  autumn  "hips"  might  be  as  lovely  in  its  way  as  the  rosv 
petals  that  Time  would  scatter  at  last,  let  them  be  never  so 
carefully  guarded. 

Marjorie  had  seen  scores  of  just  such  faces,  and  some- 
times she  had  wondered  if  life  really  was  such  an  idle,  care- 
free plav-dav  for  them  as  it  seemed  :  but  the  other  face  was 
of  a  tvpe  new  even  to  her.  and  she  studied  it  with  a  nesv 
and  unusual  interest. 

The  brown  hair  was  drawn  smoothly  away  from  the 
broad,  white  forehead,  without  a  ripple  or  crinkle  in  defer- 
ence to  the  reigning  style  :  her  hat  was  intended  for  shade 
rather  than  show,  and  beneath  its  brim  glanced  out  a  pair 
of  dark,  restless  eyes— eager,  bright,  watchful. 


208   RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE  . 

"Looking,  for  all  the  world,"  thought  simple  Marjorie, 
4  'as  those  of  poor  Queen  Margaret  must  have  looked,  when 
that  foolish,  fond  old  father  of  hers  tried,  with  a  lot  of  silly 
mummeries,  to  make  her  forget  her  broken  heart  and  her 
lost  crown." 

Suddenly  the  girl  with  the  bangs  called  out  in  the  uncere- 
monious fashion  affected  by  girls  of  her  type  : — 

"Is  there  any  objection  to  our  taking  a  rest  upon  that 
shady  piazza  of  yours?" 

"None  in  the  least,"  smiled  Marjorie  ;  "you  are  perfectly 
welcome  to  come  in  and  sit  as  long  as  you  please.  I'll 
bring  you  out  some  chairs,"  she  added,  hospitably,  as  the 
visitors  glanced  rather  doubtfully  at  the  hard,  old  wooden 
settee  that  nobody  but  her  father  considered  a  comfortable 
seat. 

And  she  brought  out  a  couple  of  easy,  pretty  willow 
rockers,  placing  them  just  inside  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
hop  vine,  and  as  her  guests  sank  into  them  with  evident 
satisfaction,  she  resumed  her  own  low  seat  and  her  pan  of 
currants,  with  an  utter  unconsciousness  of  observation  that 
puzzled,  and  perhaps  piqued,  the  city  girls,  who  really  ex- 
pected that  she  would  have  blushed  and  stammered  a  little 
at  any  rate  beneath  the  battery  of  two  pairs  of  critical,  met- 
ropolitan eyes. 

They  chatted  away  to  each  other,  the  one  of  balls  and 
dresses  and  beaux  ;  and  the  other  of  art,  literature,  and  the 
current  news  of  the  day  ;  but  not  even  a  glance  could  they 
win  from  the  little,  quiet  figure,  threading  the  scarlet  fruit 
leisurely  through  her  slender  fingers,  and  looking,  as  she 
sat  there,  so  cool  and  fresh  and  winsome,  w^ith  the  shadow 
of  the  wind-stirred  vine  leaves  dancing  saucily  upon  the 
dark,  wavy  hair,  and  touching,  with  demure  mischievous- 
ness.  the  toe  of  the  little  slippered  foot  peeping  just  beyond 


marjorie's  knight.  209 

the  hem  of  her  dress,  so  like  a  picture  that  even  the  fashion- 
able miss  with  the  bangs  recognized  with  a  start  the  fact 
that  one  could  really  be  pretty— yes,  and  picturesque,  too, 
in  a  calico  gown  made  with  a  sacque  and  skirt. 

It  was  evidently  of  no  use  to  talk  at  this  queer,  little, 
unimpressible  country  girl,  and  she  of  the  bangs,  encouraged 
by  a  glance  from  her  companion,  boldly  began  to  question 
her  after  a  fashion  of  her  own  : — 

"Don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  living  this  stupid,    country 

life,  from  year  to  year,   and  long  to  see  something  of  the 

outside  world,  with  its  bustle  and  brightness  and  splendor?" 

"And    its    wonderful    stores    of  food    for   the    mind  and 

taste?"  interposed  the  other. 

Marjorie  shook  her  head,  while  an  amused  smile  passed 
over  her  face. 

'  'A  winter  seldom  passes  that  I  do  not  visit  Boston  or 
New  York  with  my  father,  and  I  enjoy  the  excitement  of 
the  trip  very  much,  but  I   am  always    glad   to  be   at  home 

again." 

'•But  how  do  you  amuse  yourself  through  the  long,  cold 
winter?"  questioned  the  first  speaker;  "I  should  think  you'd 
dry  up  and  blow  away." 

Marjorie  laughed  outright. 

"Winter  is  the  farmer's  holiday,"  she  said  brightly; 
"and  we  have  plenty  of  sleigh  rides  and  social  dances 
among  ourselves.  Then  at  home  I  have  my  books  and— I 
could  hardly  find  time  to  be  discontented  if  I  were  disposed 
to  be  ;  there  is  so  much  to  do." 

"To  do!"  echoed  one  girl  with  a  kind  of  pitying  wonder. 

"AVork  is  the  best  of  all  panaceas  for  care  or  loneliness  !" 
grimly  appended  the  other. 

Marjorie  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  a  maze  of  inno- 
cent bewilderment.     Why  would  these  girls  insist  upon  re- 


210     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

garding  her,  in  her  pleasant  happy  home,  as  a  wretched 
victim  of  an  untoward  fate  that  had  condemned  her,  a  thor- 
ough child  of  nature,  to  dwell  closer  to  that  great  all-moth- 
er's heart  than  themselves  ?  What  queer  notions  they  must 
have  !  Why,  she  could  no  more  live  out  of  hearing  of  that 
grand,  ever-changing,  rhythmic  sea,  than  she  could  live 
without  air  and  sunshine.  A  holiday  in  the  city  was  pleas- 
ant and  entertaining,  but  a  home  there  !  why  her  whole  na- 
ture would,  in  a  little  while,  become  as  shriveled  and  sap- 
less as  one  of  those  transparent  beech  leaves  that  cling  to 
the  parent  bough,  in  spite  of  wind  and  snow,  the  long  win- 
ter through,  with  nothing  of  life  left  them  but  the  form  and 
the  capacity  for  clinging. 

"You  spoke  of  your  books — what  do  you  read?"' 

It  was  the  girl  with  the  restless  eves  who  asked  this  ques- 
tion, and  in  reply  Marjorie  rose  and  led  the  way  into  the 
pretty,  shaded  sitting-room  adjoining  the  piazza  where  they 
were  sitting. 

"There  are  my  books,"  she  said,  simply,  pointing  to  a 
neat  open  book-case  whose  half  dozen  shelves  were  filled 
with  uniformly  covered  volumes. 

"There  are  not  a  great  many,  but,"  she  added,  naively, 
"they  are  all  so  good  that  I  never  get  tired  of  reading  them 
over  and  over  again." 

Miss  Dustan  stepped  quickly  to  the  book-case  and  began 
to  read  the  names  upon  the  backs  of  the  books  :  "The  Wav- 
erley's,  first  and  foremost ;  Bulwer's,  John  Burrough's 
works,  and  Thoreau's — whew  !  Whittier  and  Celia  Thaxter 
for  poets — well,  well !  Who  selected  your  books  for  you  ?' 
she  asked  abruptly. 

And  Marjorie  smiled,  a  little  embarrassed  for  the  first 
time. 


marjorie's  knight.  211 

"I  did,  all  except  the  Waverleys,  and  those  have  been  in 
the  house  since  long  before  I  was  born.  I  grew  up  on  them, 
and  I  loved  them  so  well  that  I  never  could  endure  anything 
that  seemed  lower,  less  grand— you  know  what  I  mean.  I 
don't  like  books  about  feople  so  well,  because  they  all  fall 
short  of  my  ideals,  but  I  love  to  read  of  things,  of  birds  and 
brooks  and  trees.  That's  why  I  chose  those  other  books 
instead  of  the  stories  that  almost  everybody  recommended, 
for  they  never  grate  against  the  books  I  love  best,  or  set 
my  teeth  on  edge  to  read  something  from  the  two  in  the 
same  day." 

The  girl  with  the  bangs  smiled  uncomprehendingly.  but 
her  companion's  face  brightened  with  a  touch  of  genuine 
sympathy. 

"I  take  the  idea,"  she  said  tersely,  "and  I'll  see  if  I 
can't  bring  it  down  to  your  comprehension." 

The  other  nodded,  half  indifferently.  She  had  not 
dreamed  of  any  intended  sarcasm  in  that  slightly  emphasized 
word.  Why  should  she  ?  The  silken  cushion,  filled  with 
down,  would  never  have  known  a  dint  if  King  Richard  had 
hacked  at  it  with  his  ponderous  battle-axe  for  a  week  and  a 

day. 

4 •  Well,"  began  the  self-elected  interpreter,  '-last  winter  I 
had  a  plush  sacque,  of  the  loveliest  garnet  shade  that  I 
ever  saw, — it  was  exquisite — a  poem  on  Italian  sunsets.  I 
used  to  think,  when  I  took  the  time  to  admire  its  soft,  warm, 
glowing  tints,  and— well,  you  know  I'm  not  one  of  those 
who  believe  the  woman  was  made  for  the  fig-leaf  apron  in- 
stead of  the  apron  for  her— but  honestly,  I  did  come  prec- 
ious near  making  an  idol  of  that  sacque.  But  one  unlucky 
day  I  was  foolish  enough  to  be  attracted  by  a  silk  of  the 
same  color,  although  the  shade  was  a  brighter  and  more 
fashionable  one,  and    my   dressmaker    assured     me    that   it 


212     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

would  be  a  lovely  match  for  my  precious  sacque.  So  1 
bought  it,  and  when  I  put  on  the  two  together  I  just  cried 
with  disgust.  The  dress,  without  being  really  half  as  beau- 
tiful or  rich  or  costly,  actually  spoiled  the  sacque.  Its 
bold,  bright  newness,  made  the  richer,  more  mellow  tints  of 
the  plush  look  dull  and  faded  beside  it,  and  I  was  as  angry 
as  if  a  wrong  had  actually  been  done  to  my  favorite  gar- 
ment. I  hung  that  dress  away  in  my  closet,  and  a  few 
weeks  later  I  contributed  it  toward  a  box  of  clothing  that 
our  church  was  making  up  to  send  to  a  Dakota  missionary. 
Now,  do  you  understand  why  this  young  person  dislikes 
the  modern  novel  after  being  saturated  with  mediaeval   ro- 


mance 


?» 


•'I  tumble,"  was  the  languid  response — slang  seemed  to 
be  getting  almost  as  fashionable  as  bangs  ;  perhaps  in  rhyth- 
mical minds  one  suggested  the  other ;  at  any  rate,  this 
daintily-reared  girl,  with  every  advantage  on  her  side,  spoke 
it  as  naturally  as  if  it  had  been  her  mother  tongue. 

Her  friend  frowned  slightly. 

"Come  !"  she  said  in  her  short,  abrupt  manner,  turning 
her  face  toward  the  door,  and  then,  with  something  more  of 
courtesy  than  she  had  yet  shown,  she  thanked  Marjorie  for 
her  hospitality,  and  rather  hesitatingly  expressed  a  desire  to 
keep  up  the  acquaintance.  This  was  something  not  at  all 
after  the  fashion  of  summer  guests  usually,  but  there  was 
an  honest  straightforwardness  about  this  girl,  in  spite  of  her 
crispness,  that  won  upon  our  little  cottage  maiden  from  the 
very  first,  and  before  many  days  had  passed,  her  daily  calls 
at  the  cottage  had  ceased  to  excite  the  surprise  of  its  in- 
mates, while  Marjorie,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  had 
found  a  friend  to  whom  she  could  confide  all  her  poetic  fan- 
cies without  the  least  fear  of  being  misunderstood  or 
laughed  at. 


marjorie's  knight.  213 

Miss  Dustan,  on  her  side,  took  all  the  keen  interest  of  a 
student  of  human  nature  in  this  bright,  glad  young  creature, 
to  whom  sorrow  and  care  were  but  a  name,  and  who  had 
grown  up  as  unconscious  of  her  own  loveliness  as  the  sweet 
peas  that  nodded  and  blushed  at  them  from  behind  the  trel- 
lis work  of  the  piazza,  to  which  they  clung 

It  was  a  satisfaction,  too,  to  talk  of  her  own  life — its  aims, 
ambitions  and  hopes,  to  this  sympathetic  and  warm-hearted 
child-maiden,  without  fear  of  criticism  or  betrayal  on  her 
part  ;  and  the  proud,  reserved  young  authoress — for  such 
Miss  Dustan  was — talked  of  her  work,  past,  present  and 
future ;  of  the  disappointments  she  had  borne  ;  the  small 
successes  she  had  achieved,  and  the  great  successes  which 
she  confidently  believed  the  future  had  in  store  for  her. 

Later  on,  as  one  who  brings  forth  from  his  cabinet  for 
another's  inspection  his  rarest  and  most  cherished  gem  last 
of  all,  she  spoke  of  her  brother,  the  only  near  relative  that 
she  had  living ;  whose  tastes  and  pursuits  were  the  same  as 
her  own,  although,  as  she  laughingly  admitted,  he  was  too 
indolent  to  take  the  trouble  to  do  his  best  except  upon  some 
rare  occasion  when  something  happened  to  stimulate  him  to 
extraordinary  efforts. 

* 'He  says,"  she  remarked  one  day,  in  her  half  tender, 
half-whimsical  fashion,  "that  without  me  he  would  be  only 
half  a  man.  That  the  lire,  the  energy,  the  go,  are  all  on 
my  side,  and  that  if  I  were  to  leave  him  he  would  be  com- 
pletely crippled  mentally,  and  in  time  would  come  down  to 
the  merely  animal,  where  all  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  a 
lifetime  are  drowned  in  the  swinish  ultimatum  :  'Let  us  eat 
and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die.'  " 

"He  is  wrong  there,"  gravely  argued  honest  Marjorie. 
"No  heart  ought  to  lean  too  hard  upon  that  of  another  ;  it 
isn't  good  for  either." 


214      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

The  other  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  pressed  her  hand, 
with  a  quick,  half-stealthy  movement,  to  her  side. 

"I  shall  live  as  long  as  he  needs  me,"  she  said  in  a  tone 
of  such  concentrated  passion  that  gentle-hearted  Marjorie 
looked  at  her  in  uncomprehending  silence.  This  fierce  de- 
fiance of  Fate  for  Love's  sake  was  something  new  and  inex- 
plicable to  her,  and  as  she  pondered  over  it  in  secret  a  ten- 
der sympathy  sprung  up  in  her  heart  for  the  two  whose 
lives  were  so  closely  interwoven  that  the  severing  of  the 
tie  between  them  meant  worse  than  death  to  the  survivor. 

As  the  summer  waned  and  the  summer  birds  flitted,  Mar- 
jorie's  friend  flitted  too,  leaving  behind  her  many  pleasant, 
and  not  a  few  puzzling  memories  wherewith  our  simple  little 
maiden  bewildered  her  brain  in  a  vain  attempt  at  compre- 
hension. 

As  the  companion  of  an  idle  hour,  the  young  authoress 
had  been  bright,  crisp  and  entertaining,  but  as  a  guide 
through  the  inevitable  mysteries  and  windings  of  the  human 
life,  Marjorie  instinctively  shrank  from  and  doubted  her. 
Her  one  aim,  object  and  hope  in  life  was  an  utterly  selfish 
one,  and  only  that  one  sisterly  love  stood  between  her  heart 
and  utter  barrenness.  "Every-one  for  himself"  comprised 
her  gospel  from  Genesis  to  Revelations,  and,  in  a  refined, 
lady-like  way,  of  course,  she  lived  up  to  it. 

Her  liking  for  Marjorie  had  been  a  purely  artistic  affair, 
and  she  had  studied  her  with  the  eager  interest  of  a  painter, 
intent  upon  reproducing  a  rare  type  of  feminine  beauty. 
She  had  felt  from  the  first  that  she  would  be  useful  to  her, 
this  bright,  imaginative,  joyous  creature  ;  even  her  gentle 
domestic  virtues  would,  if  cunningly  portrayed,  help  make 
up  a  "taking"  character  with  the  reading  public,  and  as  she 
bade  her  good-bye  to  Mount  Desert  and  went  back  to  the 
busy,  congenial  life  of  the  city,   she  secretly  congratulated 


MARJORIES    KXI'.HT. 


215 


herself  upon  the  results  of  her  summer's  work  and  rejoiced 
in  anticipation  of  the  charming  figure  that  all  unconsciously 
little  Marjorie  would  make  in  her  forthcoming  story. 

Perhaps,  too.  she  found  inspiration  in  the  rugged,  roman- 
tic scenery  of  the  place,  for,  later  in  the  season,  Marjorie 
heard,  with  considerable  interest,  of  the  arrival  of  Red- 
mond Dustan  and  a  party  of  friends  at  South  West  Harbor, 
and  she  naturally  concluded  that,  as  it  was  his  first  visit  to 
that  locality,  he  must  have  been  greatly  influenced  by  his 
sister's  descriptions  of  its  beauties,  to  trust  his  yacht  at  that 
inclement  season  in  the  often  turbulent  and  boisterous  wa- 
ters of  the  bay. 

It  was  only  a  flying  visit  that  the  young  man  made  to  the 
now  deserted  scene  of  the  summer's  gayeties,  and  one  morn- 
ing Marjorie.  from  her  favorite  attic  window,  watched  the 
trim  little  craft  sailing  blithely  out  of  the  harbor  as  disdain- 
ful of  .  or  indifferent  to.  the  sullen  roar  of  the  turbulent 
waves,  or  the  brent  brow  of  the  November  sky,  as  if  she 
bore  a  charmed  life  in  her  sturdy,  well-balanced  hull. 

Maijorie  watched  her  out  of  sight,  and  then  her  practiced 
eye  scanned  the  lowering  sky  and  sea   with  a  look  of  grave 

concern. 

'•It  promises  rough  weather."  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
passed  thoughtfully  down  the  stairs,  "and  they  would  have 
been  wiser  to  have  waited  here  until  the  blow  was  over." 

In  the  night,  more  than  once,  she  was  awakened  by  the 
frantic  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  near  thunder  of  the 
surf,  and  each  time  she  thought,  with  natural  anxiety,  of 
the  yacht  and  its  amateur  crew,  and  hoped  that  they  had 
been  wise  enough  to  seek  a  safe  harbor  before  the  gale  had 
run  to  its  present  fearful  height. 

For  two  days  the    storm  continued   with  unabated   fury, 
but  on  the  third  there  was  a    lull— ••only  a   breather,"  far- 


216      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

mer  Dunmore  called  it,  but  a  token,  nevertheless,  that  the 
worst  was  over,  for  that  time,  at  least,  and  Marjorie,  re- 
membering the  adventurous  little  vessel  tossing  somewhere 
(by  God's  mercy)  away  off  in  that  wild,  black  waste  of 
waters,  took  heart  once  more  and  hoped  for  the  best. 

But  her  father  came  home  to  dinner  that  day  with  a  cloud 
upon  his  face  and  the  startling  news  : — 

"A  dispatch  came  this  forenoon  for  that  young  Dustan, 
saying  his  sister  was  dying  and  he  must  come  home  as 
quick  as  possible.     As  he  wasn't  here  to  answer  they  sent 

another  to  Taylor,  of  the House,  where  she  stayed  last 

summer,  asking  him  to  find  him  and  give  him  the  dispatch 
right  off." 

The  tears  sprung  to  Marjorie's  eyes. 

"Oh,  father  !  this  is  dreadful ;  and  nobody  knows  where 
he  is,  to  send  it  to  him,  I  suppose?" 

"Ye-es."  The  farmer  was  a  slow  spoken  man,  and 
besides  his  dinner  was  occupying  a  good  deal  of  his  atten- 
tion just  then,  but  he  appreciated  his  daughter's  anxiety, 
and  added  as  soon  as  he  was  able  : — 

"They  say  the  yacht  is  anchored  off  Gull  Point,  but  who- 
ever tries  to  reach  'er  in  this  sea  goes  on  peril  of  'is  life — 
as  I  told  Cy.  Harding." 

"  WAo?" 

Marjorie's  cheeks  were  white  as  the  driven  snow,  but  her 
father  was  too  intent  upon  his  dinner  to  notice  her. 

"Cy.  Harding,"  he  repeated.  "He  said  if  there  was 
any  two  men  that  would  go  with  'im  an'  help  man  the  dory, 
he'd  agree  to  carry  the  dispatch  to  young  Dustan.  It  was 
a  dretful  resky  thing,  an'  I  told  'im  so.  Says  I,  you'll  have 
ter  row  all  of  twenty  mile  in  a  sea  that  no  man  in  'is  senses 
would  ventur'  on,  an'  'tain't  really  a  case  of  life  or  death 
after  all. 


marjokie's  knight.  217 

"But  he  stood  firm — there's  a  good  deal  o'  setness  in 
that  Hardin'  blood — an'  says  he  :  — 

••  -Somebody  ought  ter  go.  an'  it  might  as  well  be  me  as 
anybody.' 

"  'Then  Jake  Miller  he  says  to  Taylor,  says  he  : — 

"  'I  'spose  that  young  Dustan  would  pay  pooty  well  for  a 
job  o'  this  kind?' 

•• -Oh,  yes,  indeed '.'  says  Taylor;  'there  won't  be  no 
trouble  there,  for  he's  rich  and  generous,  an'  he  sets  his 
eves  by  that  sister  o'  his.' 

"  'Wal,'  says  Jake,  'I'll  resk  it,  I  guess,  Cy.,  if  you  can 
git  another  man  ter  go  with  us.' 

"  '7V/  go,'  called  out  Dick  Dillon,  in  'is  dare-devil  fashion. 
'It  sha'n't  be  said  that  any  man  in  this  town  dars't  ter  go 
where  Dick  Dillon  don't  dars't  ter  foller.'  ' 

'•And" — Marjorie's  pleading  eyes  asked  the  question  that 
her  lips  refused  to  speak. 

"Yes,"  went  on  the  unobservant  parent,  *ban'  so  they're 
goin'  ter  start  out  by  one  o'clock  if  nothin'  don't  happen  ter 
hinder.  It's  a  terrible  resk,"  he  added,  with  a  shake  of 
his  gray  head,  "but  if  they  git  there  alive  with  the  message 
they'll  be  paid  hart somely — no  doubt  on't." 

There  was  a  little  sheltered  nook  among  the  rocks  over- 
looking the  sea,  where  Marjorie  had  played  with  her  dolls 
many  a  time  in  her  childhood,  and  found  a  very  pleasant 
place  to  read  and  dream  in  during  her  later  years,  and  now, 
unobserved,  as  she  thought,  she  stood  there,  pale  and  soli- 
tary, to  watch  the  fishing  boat  and  its  brave  crew  depart 
upon  their  hazardous  journey. 

In  spite  of  her  father's  insinuations,  she  knew,  only  too 
well,  that  Cyrus  Harding's  object  in  thus  perilling  his  life 
was  not  the  selfish  hope  of  gain,  or  even  the  reckless  fool- 
hardiness  of  a  heedless,  unthinking  adventurer.  There 
15 


218     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

was  surely  something  higher  and  nobler  in  his  motives,  and 
Marjorie  felt  an  answering  thrill  in  her  own  heart  as  she 
realized  the  full  danger  of  the  endeavor  and  the  amount  of 
manly  courage  necessary  to  face  it. 

"Marjorie  ! — you  here?" 

Perhaps  a  fluttering  fragment  of  the  crimson  scarf  that 
she  had  thrown  over  her  head  as  a  protection  from  the  chill- 
ing wind  had  caught  his  eye  ;  at  any  rate  he  had  stepped 
aside  on  his  way  to  the  beach,  and  now  stood  at  her  side 
looking  gravely,  but  fearlessly,  out  upon  the  tossing,  foam- 
capped  waste  of  water  beneath  them. 

When  was  ever  Marjorie  at  a  loss  for  words  before?  Now 
her  fair  face  flushed  and  paled  alternately,  but  she  said 
nothing,  and  clasping  her  hands  with  a  sudden,  impetuous 
movement,  the  young  man  asked  eagerly  :  — 

"Did  you  come  here,  Marjorie,  to  give  me  a  good-bye 
look  that  may,  very  likely,  be  the  last?'" 

A  tear  trembled  upon  the  girl's  softly  rounded  cheek,  but 
her  clear  eyes  met  his  unfalteringly. 

"Yes,  Cyrus,  I  came  on  purpose  to  have  a  last  look  at 
you,  and — you  won't  think  that  I  underrate  the  danger,  or 
am  indifferent  to  it  ?  I  ajn  glad  of  the  chance  to  tell  you 
how  grand  and  heroic  your  action  seems  to  me,  and  how 
proud — " 

•She  stopped  suddenly,  with  downcast  eyes  and  flaming 
cheeks,  her  maiden  pride  up  in  arms  at  once  at  the  incau- 
tious admission  of  her  own  personal  interest  in  the  young 
man  beside  her.  But  the  hour  for  concealment  was  past, 
now  and  forever,  and  as  in  few,  but  earnest  words  he  told 
his  love,  he  felt  that  he  was  doing  her  no  wrong  in  asking 
her  to  share  his  toilsome,  and,  in  some  respects,  uncongen- 
ial lot.  The  tender,  timid  girl  had  bloomed  all  at  once  into 
the  brave,  helpful  woman,  willing  and  able  to  stand  by  his 


'<,. 


"I  have  not  risked  my  life  for  mo 


n  ey 


marjorie's  knight.  219 

side  in  whatever  of  trial   or  temptation  life   might  have  in 
store  for  them. 

But  moments  were  precious,  and,  as  at  parting  she 
wound  her  own  warm  woolen  scarf  about  his  neck,  she 
whispered,  half  laughing,  half  tearful:  ''Remember,  now, 
that  you  wear  your  lady's  colors,  and  let  the  gift  nerve  and 
strengthen  you  to  the  work  before  you." 

Her  soft  hand  rested  for  a  moment  upon  his  arm,  and  the 
touch  was  like  a  royal  accolade,  encouraging  and  inciting 
him  to  deeds  of  daring  that  he  now  never  doubted  his 
ability  to  grapple  with. 

Several  times  during  that  dangerous  and  wearisome  voy- 
age his  exhausted  companions  lost  heart  and  courage,  and 
but  for  their  leader's  unfaltering  and  cheerful  determination, 
would  have  given  up  the  difficult  quest  and  sought  the 
nearest  shelter  to  be  found. 

But  the  yacht  was  reached  at  last,  the  dispatch  delivered, 
and  in  spite  of  his  grief  and  anxiety,  young  Dustan  found 
thought  for  a  word  of  praise  and  gratitude  to  the  brave  men 
who  had  risked  their  lives  to  bring  him  this  important  mes- 
sage. 

"You  have  done  a  brave  and  humane  deed,"  he  said, 
"and  if  you  will  accept  this  in  remembrance  of  your  ser- 
vice you  will  be  doing  me  another  favor." 

And  he  placed  in  each  man's  hand  a  sum  of  money 
larger,  perhaps,  than  they  had  ever  seen  at  one  time  before 
in  their  lives,  and  which  only  Cyrus  Harding  refused  to  ac- 
cept. 

"I  did  not  peril  my  life  for  money,"  he  said,  simply. 
4 'And  I  should  feel  degraded  in  my  own  eyes  by  the  accept- 
ance of  it." 

That  evening  Marjorie,  as  she  heard  her  father — who 
had  had    the    story    from    Jake    Miller — wondering   at  the 


220     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE 


young  man's  refusal  of  so  generous  a  bounty,  clasped  her 
own  precious  secret  to  her  heart,  and  whispered  softly,  lov- 
ingly to  that  heart : — 

"My  knight — God  bless  him! — is  as  generous  as  he  is 
true  and  brave." 

And  the  deep-voiced  sea,  calling  without  in  the  dim  and 
dusky  distance,  seemed,  to  her  girlish  fancy,  to  have  sud- 
denly grown  softer  and  more  tender  as,  catching  the  con- 
cluding words,  it  tossed  them  back  to  her  like  an  approving 
echo  : — 

"True  and  brave  !     True  and  brave  !'' 


Stuffing  the  Thanksgiving  M8U. 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  223 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY. 

He  was  a  noble  fellow,  a  very  prince  among  turkeys,  but 
Susy  looked  upon  him  with  an   eye  that   expressed   neither 
approval  nor  satisfaction  ;  and  as  the  settings  un  peeped  in  at 
the  kitchen  window,  revealing  for  a  moment  the  grand  pro- 
portions of  his  portly  frame,  as  he  reposed  in  state  upon  the 
spotless    pine    table,    she   only    muttered   to    herself  as  she 
brought  her  rolling  pin   down  with  an  emphasis    upon    the 
round,  white  faces  of  the  crackers  upon  the  moulding  board  : 
''He's    nothing    but    an    advertisement    of    my     skill    in 
cookery,  and  that  stupid  owl  of  a  Ben.   Toothacre    will   be 
more  determined  than  ever   to  secure   my  services  as  a  life- 
long cook  in  his  establishment.     Ugh  1"  with  a  grimace  at 
the  unconscious  crackers,  "I  hate  the  very  sight  of  his  fat, 
pimply  face  with  its  greedy  eyes,  and  great  mouth  that  can 
talk  of  nothing  but  victuals,  and  how  he  can  eat  more  than 
any  other  man  of  his  size   in  town — and  to   think  that  so 
sensible  a  man  as  father  should  be  willing  to   endure,  even 
cultivate    him,  just  for  the   sake   of  the  Toothacre  acres — 
(that's  what  poor  John  would  call  a  pun,  I  suppose,")  and 
she  laughed  a  little  in  spite  of  the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes 
as    she   silently   rolled,    chopped    and    seasoned  the  savory 
mass  that  was  to  take  the  place  of  the  rifled  contents  of  the 
deceased  fowl's  body  ;  while  as  the  twilight  shadows  crep 
slowly  in,  making   dusky  corners  in  the   wide   old  kitchen, 
the  gloom  settled  down  more  heavily  upon  her  heart,   and 
tears  of  sad  foreboding  stained  her  cheeks  as   she  recalled 
the  words  of  her  father  the  evening  before  : 


224     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"I  want  you  to  do  your  best  on  this  Thanksgiving  din- 
ner, Susy,  for  I've  asked  Benjamin  Toothacre  and  his 
mother  to  eat  it  with  us, "then  as  he  caught  the  look  of  vexed 
surprise  upon  his  daughter's  face,  he  added,  more  sternly 
than  was  his  wont  in  speaking  to  his  motherless  girl : 

"Young  Toothacre  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  expect  that 
you  will  treat  him  accordingly." 

Poor  John  !  Manly,  honest,  large-hearted,  with  more 
brains  than  would  have  sufficed  for  half  a  dozen  generations 
of  Toothacres,  but  alas  !  landless  or  about  to  be,  and  Susy 
remembered  with  a  pang  a  bit  of  news  that  she  had  heard 
that  morning  at  the  village  store  while  she  was  waiting  for 
the  clerk  to  do  up  her  paper  of  raisins  : 

"It's  a  hard  case,"  remarked  one  old  loafer  to  another,  in 
response  to  some  communication  that  she  had  failed  to  no- 
tice, "for  John  Oakman's  a  good,  smart,  steady  young  man 
as  you'll  find  anywhere,  but  the  fact  is  the  old  man  left  the 
place  in  bad  shape  with  a  mortgage  on  it  that  it  takes  all  he 
can  rake  an'  scrape  to  pay  the  interest  of,  an'  if  Watkins 
should  foreclose  as  he  threatens  to  do,  why  he'll  be  left 
high  an'  dry,  of  course." 

And  here  was  Susy,  an  heiress  in  her  own  right  to  the 
snug  little  fortune  that  had  been  her  mother's— a  fortune 
that  would  pay  off  that  terrible  mortgage  and  give  the  man 
she  loved  a  chance  to  begin  life,  free  and  unfettered  by  the 
harrassing  burden  that  had  worried  his  less  enterprising  and 
courageous  parent  into  his  grave. 

She  was  a  practical  little  body  in  spite  of  some  romantic- 
girlish  notions,  and  even  the  rosy  glamour  of  her  first  love 
dream  could  not  blind  her  to  the  fact  that,  but  for  her  fath- 
er's unreasonable  opposition,  John  Oakman  might  be  the 
unencumbered  possessor  of  a  house  and  farm  as  well  as  a 
wife  to  help  him  care  for  and  enjoy  it. 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  225 

"And  it's  all  on  account  of  that  hateful  Ben  Toothacre  I" 
she  sobbed  under  her  breath.  "Before  he  took  a  notion  to 
hang  round  here  father  was  always  pleased  to  see  John, 
and  I've  heard  him  say  a  hundred  times  that  he  was  one  of 
the  likeliest  young  men  in  town,  but  now  he  hardly  treats 
him  with  common  civility.  I  wish,"  with  a  little  k'jab"  of 
her  mixing  spoon  into  the  savory  mixture  before  her,  "that 
his  Thanksgiving  dinner  would  choke  him,  or,"  as  she 
slowly  rubbed  some  dried  sage  leaves  between  her  plump 
palms,  "that  he'd  disapprove  of  my  cookery  so  much  that 
he'd  never  want  to  taste  any  more  of  it." 

She  smiled,  rather   confidently  it  must  be   confessed,  as 
she  thought  how  unlikely  it  was  that  such  a  desirable  con- 
summation should  be  brought   about  by   her   cookery,    but 
the  next  moment    she    sighed    heavily    as    she  remembered 
poor  John  eating  his  lonely  Thanksgiving  dinner,  with  no- 
body but  his  snuffy  old  housekeeper  for  company,  not  per- 
mitted even  so  much  as  a  look  at  the  dainties  that  had  had 
a  thought  of  him  moulded  into  each  and  all  of  them,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  active  little  housekeeper  felt 
that  getting  ready  for  Thanksgiving  was  a  task  rather  than 
a  pleasurable  excitement,  whose  fruits  were  to  add  new  lau- 
rels to  her  own  brow,  and   there  was   a  weary  drag  to  her 
step  as  she  sought  the  closet  where  her  herbs  were  stored, 
for,  thanks  to  some  grand-motherly  instruction  in  her  child- 
ish days,  she  had  never   failed,  for  years,   to  lay   in  a  stock 
each  season,  of  herbs  both  for  medicinal  and  cooking  pur- 
poses, all  gathered,  dried  and  labelled  by  her  own  deft  fin- 
gers, although  the  latter  precaution  seemed  almost  unneces- 
sary in  view  of  the  fact  that  each  kind  had  its  own  separate 
compartment  upon  its  own  particular  shelf,  and  it  was  the 
boast  of  their  owner  that  she  "could  put  her  hand  upon  the 
one  she  wanted  in  the  darkest  night  that  ever  was,"  which 


226      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

was  the  reason  perhaps,  that  she  did  not  consider  a  light 
necessary,  although  the  evening  shadows  made  everything 
indistinct  in  the  windowless  closet,  and  her  eyes  were  dim- 
mer than  usual  as  she  fumbled  among  the  carefully  secured 
and  fragrant  bundles  for  the  summer  savory  whose  peculiar 
flavor  was  to  add  the  finishing  touch  to  the  almost  completed 
stuffing. 

"Here  it  is  !  There,  I've  dropped  the  label !"  as  a  strip 
of  paper  fell  fluttering  to  the  floor.  "But  it's  no  matter, 
anybody  can  tell  summer  savory  without  even  looking  at  it," 
and  mechanically  rubbing  the  stiff  spikes  between  her  fin- 
gers she  retraced  her  steps  to  the  kitchen,  and  by  the  time 
that  her  father  came  in  ready  for  his  supper  the  turkey  was 
comfortably  established  in  a  big  baking  pan,  his  wings 
meekly  folded  above  his  wonderfully  distended  breast,  and 
those  stately  legs,  once  the  pride  of  the  barnyard,  now  help- 
lessly fettered  by  a  bit  of  cotton  yarn. 

"All  ready  for  to-morrow,  Susy?"  queried  her  father 
with  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  unusually  grave  face  bent  over 
the  tea  that  she  was  pouring  for  him. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Nothing  I  can  do  to  help  you?" 

"No,  sir." 

This  curtness  was  something  unusual,  and  the  old  man's 
fatherly  heart  gave  a  throb  of  pain  as  he  remembered  the 
look,  half  surprised,  half  reproachful,  with  which  his  propo- 
sition of  having  the  Toothacres  to  dinner  on  this,  the  great 
feast  day  of  the  people,  had  been  received,  and,  disguise  it 
as  he  might  under  the  names  of  girlish  nonsense  and  wilful- 
ness, he  could  not  help  seeing  the  repugnance  with  which 
Susy  received  the  awkward  attentions  of  their  rich,  but 
coarse  minded  neighbor,  and  the  unmistakable  pain  in  look 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  227 

and  tone  that  always  followed  his  slighting  treatment  of  her 
old  playmate  and  would-be  suitor,  young  Oakman. 

"Girls  don't  always  know  what  is  best  for  'em,"  he 
mused  over  his  pipe  that  evening,  "but,"  with  a  glance  at 
the  trim,  graceful  figure  opposite,  "I  do  wish,  myself,  that 
Toothacre  had  a  little  more  wit  to  go  with  his  money." 

The  tall  eight  day  clock  in  farmer  Harris'  kitchen  was 
just  on  the  stroke  of  ten  the  following  morning,  when  the 
sound  of  steps  on  the  piazza  and  a  blundering  knock  at  the 
front  door  announced  the  arrival  of  the  expected  guests, 
and  in  welcoming  and  helping  the  old  lady  remove  her 
wrappings  Susy  managed  to  escape  the  disagreeably  familiar 
salutation  of  the  delighted  Ben.,  who  was  in  high  feather, 
evidently  looking  upon  his  invitation  to  dinner  as  a  decided 
hint  that  his  matrimonial  projects  would  be  received  with 
favor  whenever  he  chose  to  unfold  them. 

"Benjie's  been  ready  these  two  hours,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Toothacre  with  a  little  introductory  sniggle,  as  she  shook 
out  the  folds  of  her  best  black  dress  that  she  had  worn  to 
do  honor  to  the  occasion. 

"But  I  told  'im  'twant  best  to  get  here  too  early,  before 
you'd  got  your  head  combed  an'  yer  frock  changed.  I  a'int 
forgot  when  I  was  young  an'  had  a  beau,  I  should  a'  been 
as  mad  as  a  wet  hen  if  he'd  a'  caught  me  in  my  forenoon 
rig." 

Susy  bridled  angrily,  and  Ben.  giggled,  while  father  Har- 
ris wisely  essayed  to  turn  the  conversation  by  opening  a  dis- 
cussion upon  the  subject  of  pigs,  in  which  his  younger 
neighbor  took  even  more  interest  than  farmers  generally, 
having,  as  his  mother  feelingly  remarked,  "a  soft  side  for 
all  critters,  pigs  particularly"  and  being,  moreover,  so 
well  posted  in  the  peculiarities,  habits  and  tastes  of  that  in- 
teresting animal  that  he   could  carry  on   a   conversation  in 


228   RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

that  line  without  any  extra  tax  upon  his  very  limited  supply 
of  brain  power,  which  was  quite  a  consideration  in  his  case. 

Left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Mrs.  Toothacre,  Susy  was 
obliged  to  listen  with  all  the  patience  she  could  muster  to  a 
lengthened  dissertation  upon  the  excellencies,  social  and  do- 
mestic, of  that  lady's  incomparable  son. 

"Ther's  one  thing  about  Benjie,"  remarked  the  dame, 
lowering  her  voice  to  a  confidential  undertone  and  turning 
up  to  Susy's  a  face  just  about  as  expressionless  as  one  of  her 
own  pie  plates,  "he's  an  excellent  provider,  an'  anybody 
that's  kep  house  knows  what  a  comfort  'tis  to  have  enough 
to  do  with,  but"  with  an  impressive  uplifting  of  her  skinny, 
toil  hardened  hand,  "he  don't  want  what  he  brings  into  the 
house  spoiled  in  the  cooking.  Now,  he's  said  to  me,  time 
an'  agin,  'marm,  I  wouldn't  marry  the  handsomest  an'  best 
woman  in  the  world  if  she  didn't  know  how  to  cook  a  din- 
ner to  suit  me.'  I  remember  the  first  time  I  mistrusted  he 
was  takin'  a  notion  to  you.  He  come  home  one  night, — he'd 
been  helpin'  yer  pa  get  in  his  corn, — an'  says  he,  'marm, 
Susy  Harris  makes  the  best  riz  biscuits  and  doughnuts  that 
I  ever  eat  in  my  life.  I  declare  for't,  I  couldn't  eat  enough 
of  'em.' 

"  'No  doubt  on't,'  says  I,  'Susy's  had  practice.  She's 
kep  house  for  her  pa  ever  since  she  was  thirteen  years  old, 
an'  she  ought  ter  know  how  to  cook  by  this  time  if  she's 
ever  goin'  to.' 

"He  didn't  say  much  more  at  the  time,  but  every  now 
an'  then  he'd  fling  them  riz  biscuits  into  my  face  if  mine 
wan't  just  up  to  the  mark,  an'  at  last  I  got  out  o'  patience 
an'  says  I : 

"  'Benjie,  why  don't  you  get  Susy  Harris  to  do  your 
cookin'  altogether?  I'm  gettin'  too  old  to  stan'  it  much 
longer,  an'  when  I  give  out  you'll  have  tu  have  somebody.'' 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  229 

••He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  an'  then  he  shook  his  head, 
an'  says  he,  solemnly  :  — 

"  -Biscuits  ain't  everything,  an'  doughnuts  ain't  every- 
thing ;  I'll  try  her  mince  pies  an'  cider  apple  sarce  before  I 
take  sech  an  important  step  as  that.' 

ikThere.  now,  that's  jest  like  'im  !"  commented  the  old 
lady  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration,  "He's  that  prudent  in 
everything,  none  o'  yer  hot  headed,  rushin'  sort,  but  one 
that  always  looks  before  he  leaps.  He  won't  never  ruin 
his  fammerly  with  idle  speculations,  I  can  tell  you." 

Susv's  rage  had  had  time  to  cool  somewhat,  and  her  sense 
of  humor  was  fast  getting  the  ascendency  over  her  temper, 
as  she  asked  demurely  : — 

'•How  does  he  like  my  pies  and  apple  sauce  now  that  he 
has  had  the  opportunity  of  trying  them?'' 

. .  Verv — well — indeed." 

The  words  rolled  slowly  from  the  old  lady's  tongue  with 
an  unctious  sweetness  that  reminded  her  listener  of  a  well 
buttered  stick  of  molasses  taffy,  and  there  was  a  look  of 
complacent  proprietorship  in  the  eyes  that  rested  upon  her 
face  that  the  young  girl  felt  as  an  added  aggravation. 

••Perhaps  my  cooking  taken  as  a  whole  might  not  suit 
him  so  well,"  she  said  with  tart  significance,  uand  if  the 
cookery  did  I'm  sure  the  cook  wouldn't." 

The  old  lady  laughed  placidly. 

•Til  resk  it '."  she  said,  with  a  glance  of  maternal  pride 
at  the  broad  shouldered,  heavy  browed  lubber  who  was.  in 
her  partial  eyes,  a  perfect  model  of  manly  grace  and  beauty. 

t;Benjie  'd  be  reasonable  an'  make  allowances  for  all 
shortcomins.  He'll  be  a  peaceable  husband,  like  his  father 
before  'im.  jest  as  long  as  he  sees  that  anybody  is  doin' 
their  very  best  to  please  'im." 


230     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Susy  set  her  teeth  with  an  angry  grip,  and  even  Mrs. 
Toothacre  was  a  little  shaken  out  of  her  motherly  abstrac- 
tion by  the  sharpness  of  her  tones  as  she  said  curtly  : — 

"It's  nothing  to  me  what  kind  of  a  husband  he  makes," 
then,  with  a  sudden  remembrance  of  the  courtesy  due  to  a 
guest,  she  added  with  an  effort : — 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,  now,  I  will  go  and  see  about  my 
dinner.      Pray  make  yourself  comfortable." 

"Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure  !"  smiled  the  easily  mollified  dame, 
and  Susy  shut  the  parlor  door  behind  her  with  a  long  breath 
of  relief. 

Would  this  thrice  tedious  day  ever  come  to  an  end,  and 
her  father  and  herself  be  left  in  peace  to  the  pleasant  quiet 
of  their  own  unshared  fireside  ?  But  if  this  day  were  to 
be  lengthened  into  weeks,  months,  years,  a  lifetime,  perhaps  ? 
She  fairly  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

"I  would  rather  die  to-day,"  she  muttered  passionately, 
"and,"  her  courage  rising  with  her  desperation,  "I'll  tell 
father  so  this  very  night.  I  cannot  and  will  not  endure  this 
any  longer,"  and  firm  in  her  resolve,  she  went  about  her 
duties  with  a  lightened  heart  and  step,  intent,  for  the  time, 
upon  the  production  of  a  dinner  that  should  vindicate  her 
claim  to  the  title  of  the  best  cook  in  town. 

And  the  dinner  was  a  success,  as  father  Harris  had  fore- 
seen when  he  invited  his  friends  to  share  it  with  him.  The 
potatoes,  squash  and  turnip  were  mashed  smooth  as  cream 
and  seasoned  to  perfection,  the  cranberry  sauce  was,  for  a 
wonder,  sweetened  sufficiently,  the  pickles  were  so  crisp  and 
green  as  to  call  forth  Mrs.  Toothacre's  housewifely  com- 
mendation, and  the  turkey — but  Ben  Toothacre  can  speak 
for  that : — 

"I  guess  I'll  take  another  spoonful  of  the  stuffin',  Mr. 
Harris,"  he  remarked,    stretching  his  plate  half  way  across 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  231 

the  table  and  bringing  his  coat  sleeve  in  dangerous  proxim- 
ity to  the  butter.  l-I  must  say  it's  about  the  best  stutfin*  I 
ever  tasted.  I  could  just  about  eat  my  weight  of  it.  It's 
too  bad,  ma'am,"  with  a  facetious  wink  at  that  venerable 
dame,  "that  you  can't  eat  stuffiu'.  You  don't  know  how- 
good  'tis." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head  regretfully.  --Turkey  stuf- 
fin'  always  briles  on  my  stomach,  and  besides,"  the  regret 
deepened  to  a  decorous  solemnity,  "I  never  can  relish  turkey 
sence  my  poor  husband  was  taken  ten  years  ago  this 
Thanksgivin'.  You  see  (a  leetle  more  of  the  gravy  Mr. 
Harris),  he  was  dretful  tond  o'  hen  turkeys,  an' the  day 
before  Thankssivin'  he  brought  home  one  o'  the  finest  ones 
that  I  ever  put  my  eyes  on,  an'  says  he,  mow  Cinthy,  do 
yer  pertiest,'  so  I  did,  an'  I  dressed  it  jest  as  he  liked  it 
best,  in  jacket  an'  trowsers,  an'  " — 

•Tn  what?"  interrupted  Susy,  in  comical  amazement. 
"Why,  with  slices  o'  bacon,  of  course,  what  else  should 
I  mean?"  retorted  the  speaker,  a  little  tartly.  "An'  I  put 
it  on  the  table,  an'  he  helped  me  to  a  piece,  an'  theu  he 
helped  Benjie  to  a  piece,  an'  then  he  helped  himself  to  a 
o-ood  big  piece,  an'  jest  as  he  was  a  puttin'  the  first  mouth- 
ful to  his  lips  he  fell  back  in  a  fit  an'  died  before  we  could 
<*et  to  'im,  an'  he  never  got  so  ?nuch  as  a  bite  o'  that  hen 
turkey  after  all." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  dolorous  drawl  that  con- 
trasted so  comically  with  the  placid,  self-satisfied  face  of  the 
speaker,  that  Susy  could  not  command  herself  sufficiently  to 
utter  the  stereotyped  words  of  condolence  that  the  widow 
evidently  expected,  and  an  awkward  pause  ensued,  broken 
at  last,  by  father  Harris,  who  remarked,  with  an  effort  to 
appear  at  ease  : — 


232 


RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


"You're  in  the  same  pew  with  me  in  regard  to  stuffing. 
It  always  disagrees  with  me,  and  I  haven't  tasted  any  for 
years,  while  Susy  here  won't  eat  it  on  account  of  the  onions 
in  it." 

Ben.  laughed  uproariously. 

"That's  a  good  one  !"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
his  mouth  clear  enough  to  speak.  '-Who  cares  if  their 
breath  does  smell  of  onions  Thanksgiving  day?  I'll  give 
you  leave  to  eat  'em,  Susy,  an'  if  /  can  stand  it,  I  guess 
you  can,"  with  a  leer  that  made  him  more  disagreeable  than 
ever,  while  even  father  Harris  looked  disgusted,  for  the 
moment,  with  his  coarse  assurance. 

The  dessert  was  duly  discussed  and  praised,  Ben.  espec- 
ially, growing  fairly  enthusiastic  over  it. 

"  That's  what  /  call  mince  pie,  ma'am?"  taking  a  huge 
mouthful  and  smacking  his  lips  with  an  air  of  intense  sat- 
isfaction. "None  o'  your  mean,  sour,  dried  up  things,  with 
a  crust  like  sole  leather.  This  is  the  kind  that  a  man  could 
plough  all  day  on.-' 

"I  shouldn't  be  afraid  to  set  Susy's  mince  pies  alongside 
the  best  cooks  in  the  county,"  added  father  Harris,  with  a 
prideful  glance  at  the  white,  flaky  crust,  and  delicately  fla- 
vored contents  of  the  pastry  before  him. 

"I  wanted  her  to  send  some  of  her  cookery  to  the  county 
fair — you  know  they  offered  premiums  for  the  best  bread 
and  pies — but  she  wouldn't." 

"Why  not?"  queried  Ben,   earnestly.       "If  you   hadn't 
wanted  to  go  /could  a'  taken  'em  along  jest  as  well  as  not. 
They  might  a'  had  as  good  luck  as  my  Berkshires  did.   You 
knew  I  got  the  premium  for  them?"  to  Susy. 
"Yes,  yes." 

It  was  father  Harris  who  answered,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
rose  rather  hurriedly  from  the  table,  anxious  to  remove  the 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  23o 

guests  for  a  time  from  under  Susy's  critical  eyes,  while  he 
trusted  to  his  own  wit  and  shrewdness  to  lead  the  conver- 
sation into  some  more  edifying  and  congenial  channel  by  the 
time  that  she  would  be  ready  to  join  in  it  again. 

The  table  was  cleared  and  everything  in  its  place  only 
too  soon,  and  Susy  removed,  with  a  sigh,  her  white  check 
apron,  and  with  slow  and  reluctant  steps  sought  the  parlor 
where  her  visitors  were  seated  in  solitary  state,  for  her 
father  had  been  obliged  to  absent  himself  for  an  hour  to 
attend  to  some  of  his  farm  duties,  and  the  mother  and  son 
had  necessarily  been  left  to  lind  what  entertainment  they 
could  in  each  other's  society — not  very  lively  entertainment, 
Susy  thought,  as,  on  entering  the  room,  she  caught  sight  of 
the  old  lady  fast  asleep  in  her  chair,  while  her  hopeful  son, 
evidently  exhausted  with  his  trencher  duties,  lay  sprawled 
out  upon  the  sofa,  his  clumsy  heels  in  the  air,  and  his  well 
greased  head  resting  upon  the  pretty  embroidered  sofa  pil- 
low that  she  had  spent  so  many  precious  hours  in  fashion- 
ing. 

"The  boor!"  she  thought,  Avith  a  glance  of  intense  dis- 
gust at  the  recumbent  figure,  asleep,  as  she  supposed.  But 
as  she  passed  he  gave  her  dress  a  sudden  pull,  and  as  she 
paused  with  a  look  of  angry  astonishment  in  her  eyes,  he 
whispered,  with  a  significant  nod  in  the  direction  of  his 
sleeping  parent  : — 

"Set  down,  jest  a  minute,  Susy.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something — clo3't  up,  so't  ma'am  won't  hear." 

Susy  gave  her  dress  an  angry  jerk,    and   seating  herself 
beyond  the  reach   of  his   arm,    she  said,  with  a  frostiness 
that  would  have  silenced  a  more  observant  and  less   con- 
ceited lover  : — 
16 


234      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"If  you  have  anything  to  say  you  have  no  occasion  to 
whisper  it.  I  don't  imagine  your  mother  will  mind  having 
her  nap  disturbed." 

But  before  she  had  finished  speaking  he  was  at  her  side. 

"I've  had  my  eye  on  you  this  long  while,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  that  was  meant  to  be  tender,  "and  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to — "  he  paused,  and  a  sudden  paleness  overspread 
his  face  and  he  grasped  at  a  chair  back  for  support. 

"I — I  believe  I'm  sick  T  he  gasped,  and  falling  back 
upon  the  sofa  he  groaned  heavily. 

"What's  the  matter — what  ails  you,  Benjie?"  and  Mrs. 
Toothacre,  roused  from  her  nap,  hurried  to  her  son's  side. 

"Is  it  your  head?"  questioned  Susy,  frightened  and 
trembling  at  the  dreadful  pallor  of  his  face,  while  visions  of 
sudden  apoplexy,  hereditary  perhaps,  rose  in  horrible  array 
before  her. 

"Oh,  no,"  moaned  the  sufferer,  feebly,  "it's  my — my 
stomach, — ough  !" 

And  Susy  ran  for  a  wash  basin. 

She  understood  it  all  now, — "the  fool  had  over-eaten 
himself,"  she  thought,  with  a  sudden  diminution  of  sympa- 
thy, and  there  was  more  of  ridicule  than  pity  in  her  tones 
as  she  recommended  her  father's  favorite  remedy  for  all 
diseases  of  the  digestive  organs,  a  good  dose  of  lobelia. 

"It  won't  hurt  you,"  she  said,  trying  hard  to  smother  a 
laugh  at  the  ridiculous  inappropriateness  of  the  scene  and 
place,  the  doleful  air  of  the  sufferer  and  his  mother's  dis- 
tressful sympathy,  "and  it  may  do  you  good.  Father  has 
great  faith  in  it." 

But  the  patient  shook  his  head  decidedly,  and  his  mother 
whispered,  under  her  breath  :  — 

"He  don't  believe  in  any  kind  o'  hot  crop  medicines,  and 
he'll  feel  better  when  he  srets  that  load  off  of  his  stomach." 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  235 

But  the  hopeful  prophecy  seemed  slow  of  fulfillment,  for 
the  sick  man  grew  worse  instead  of  better,  until  even  Susy 
began  to  look  frightened,  and  glance  anxiously  from  the 
window,  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  her  father  whose  exper- 
ience in  sickness  had  made  him  quite  an  authority,  both  in 
the  neighborhood  and  his  own  family. 

"There  he  is  !"  and  running  to  meet  him  she  told  him  of 
their  guest's  sudden  attack,  winding  up  with  the  half  fright- 
ened declaration  : — 

"I'm  afraid  this  is  something  more  than  a  common  at- 
tack of  indigestion.  You  don't  suppose,"  catching  at  her 
father's  arm,  as  he  was  about  to  enter  the  door,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  terrified  whisper,  "that  he  could  have  been  poi- 
soned''." 

"Nonsense,  child  !"  and  he  laughed,  not  ill  pleased  to  see, 
as  he  thought,  some  traces  of  tender  anxiety  in  his  daugh- 
ter's words  and  tones,  but  his  face  grew  grave  and  there  was 
a  marked  uneasiness  in  his  manner  as  he  watched  the  pain- 
ful retchings  of  his  patient. 

"I'm  afraid  there's  something  more  than  we  understand 
in  this,  Susy,"  he  whispered.  "It  does  look,"  with  a  glance 
at  the  distressed  face,  "as  if  he  had  taken  something  be- 
sides wholesome  food  into  his  stomach.  I  think  I'd  better 
go  for  the  doctor, — .and,  if  he'll  take  it,  perhaps  you'd  bet- 
ter fix  a  little  lobelia  for  him.  It'll  warm  his  stomach  an' 
perhaps  turn  his  sickness." 

"Oh,  dear  !"  groaned  the  suffering  youth,  "to  think  that 
I  should  be  took  like  this  jest  now"  and  he  cast  a  mourn- 
fully significant  glance  at  Susy's  now  anxious  face,  while 
his  mother  interrupted,  soothingly  : 

"Oh,  law  !  I  wouldn't  mind  that.  You  couldn't  be  in  a 
better  place,  with  Susy  an'  me  both  to  wait  on  ye.     Come," 


236     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

with  an  entreating  look  at  the  young  girl,   "and   hold   his 
head  for  'im.     Won't  you?  now  do." 

But  Susy  shook  her  head  with  an  ill-repressed  look  of 
disgust,  and  the  sick  man  groaned  more  dismally  than  be- 
fore. 

"Won't  you  try  the  lobelia?" 

There  was  a  compunctious  softening  in  her  tones  that  the 
patient  evidently  mistook  for  tenderness,  for  his  heavy  feat- 
ured face  brightened  and  he  murmured  resignedly  : — 

"Yes,  yes,  I'll  take  anything  you  give  me." 

And  Susy  hurried  away,  glad  of  the  permission  to  do 
something  that  should  satisfy  her  sense  of  duty  and,  at  the 
same  time,  take  her  out  of  the  reach  of  any  possible  calls 
upon  the  small  stock  of  patience  and  politeness  that  the  petty 
annoyances  of  the  day  had  left  her. 

The  lobelia  was  in  the  herb  closet,  and  as  she  drew  the 
bundle  hastily  from  its  niche  upon  the  upper  shelf,  the  stems 
dropped  apart  in  her  hand,  several  falling  at  her  feet.  "I 
am  sure  I  tied  them  together,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  as 
she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  scattered  ones  her  eye  fell  upon 
the  paper  label  that  had  dropped  from  the  bunch  of  summer 
savory  the  evening  before,  and,  with  habitual  care,  she 
paused  for  a  moment  to  readjust  it  in  its  place. 

But  what  was  this?  The  summer  savory,  with  its  label 
untouched,  lay  undisturbed  upon  the  shelf  where  she  had 
placed  it  weeks  ago, — but  this? — she  read  the  before  unex- 
amined label : — 

"Lobelia." 

Bewilderment,  confusion  and  mirth  chased  each  other  in 
rapid  succession  over  the  girl's  expressive  face,  and  drop- 
ping into  the  nearest  chair  she  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks. 


STUFFING  THE  THANKSGIVING  TURKEY.  237 

"To  think  that  I  should  have  made  such  a  mistake  !"  she 
gasped  between  her  paroxysms  of  laughter.  "What  will 
Ben.  Toothacre  say  to  his  emetic,  I  wonder?" 

Then,  as  a  sudden  thought  crossed  her  mind,  her  eyes 
fairly  danced  with  delight  and  triumph,  and  springing  to 
her  feet  she  hastened  into  the  parlor,  and  approaching  the 
sofa,  remarked,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  tones  :— 

"I've  found  out  what  ails  your  son,  Mrs.  Toothacre.     I 
made  a  mistake  in  the  seasoning  of  my  turkey  stuffing  and 
put  in  lobelia  instead  of  summer  savory." 
"Lobelia?" 

Ben.  grew  white  about  the  mouth,  and  his  mother's  faded 
eyes  absolutely  blazed  with  wrath. 

"I  should  think  'twas  a  mistake!"  she  cried,  spitefully. 
"What  on  'arth  was  you  thinkin'  on  ter  make  sich  a  blun- 
der as  that  ?  A  child  ten  year  old  would  'a  had  more  wit 
'n  ter  cut  up  sich  a  caper." 

Susy  was  inwardly  delighted,  but  she  put  on  an  air  of 
wounded  dignity. 

"He'll  get  over  it  as  soon  as  the  emetic  has  had  time  to 
work,"  she  said  so  coolly  that  Mrs.  Toothacre  could  hardly 
forbear  shaking  her. 

"He'll  get  over  wantin'  to  eat  any  more  of  your  vit- 
tles,"  she  retorted,  with  what  she  considered  cutting  sar- 
casm, and  as  her  son  seemed  considerably  revived  she  be- 
gan to  urge  their  departure  for  home,  but  Susy  interposed  : 
"Don't  hurry  him,"  she  said,  with  a  politeness  that  the 
ao-orieved  pair  took  as  an  additional  insult. 

"The  doctor  '11  be  here  soon,  and  perhaps  he'll  give  him 
something  to  settle  his  stomach, — you'd  better  wait." 

But  Ben.,  like  his  mother,  thought  it  best  to  seek  the  shel- 
ter and  safety  of  their   own  home,    and    as  Susy   went  to 


238      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

bring  their  wrappings  she  overheard  the  old  lady  asking, 
in  a  tone  of  intense  anxiety  : — 

"You  hain't  committed  yourself,  have  ye,  Benjie?" 

"No,  ma'am,  I'm  glad  to  say  I  hain't." 

"That's  lucky,"  replied  the  dame,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"Why,  there  ain't  no  knowin'  what  sich  an  absent  minded 
woman  'd  do.  Like  as  not  she'd  put  tansy  in  your  sassages 
an'  fill  up  the  pepper  sass  bottle  with  balm  gilead  buds. 
She  aint  safe  to  be  trusted  to  cook  for  decent  folks." 

"She  won't  never  cook  for  me!"  growled  Ben.,  and  Susy, 
who  heard  it  all,  laughed  triumphantly  in  her  sleeve. 

Ben.  Toothacre  never  renewed  his  unwelcome  attentions, 
and  father  Harris  ate  his  next  Thanksgiving  dinner  at  the 
house  of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  John  Oakman,  whose  reputa- 
tion as  a  model  housekeeper  is  now  too  well  established  in 
the  community  to  suffer  injury  from  the  significant  hints  of 
old  Mrs.  Toothacre  and  her  still  unmarried  son,  who,  to  this 
day,  date  everything  from  "that  Thanksgiving  dinner  when 
Susy  Harris  seasoned  her  turkey  stuffing  with  lobelia." 


r 


A  Tempest  in  a  Tea-pot 


A  TEMPEST  EN  A  TEA-POT. 


241 


A  TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-POT. 

••Broiled  partridge  for  two,  at  six  p.  m." 

These  were  the  contents  of  a  note  that  the  captain  of  the 
steamer  that  runs  daily  between  Kineo  and  the  foot  of  the 
lake  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  at  the 
former  place,  with  the  accompanying  remark  : 

'•It's  an  odd  old  covey  and  his  wife  from  furrin  parts,  I 
conceit,  by  the  speech  of  'em." 

The  message  was  an  unusual  one,  for  visitors  at  this  fav- 
orite summer  resort  usually  trusted,  and  safely,  too,  to  the 
well-known  excellence  of  the  bill  of  fare  always  to  be 
found  at  the  Kineo  House ;  but  the  jolly  landlord  only 
-smiled  good  naturedly  as  he  replied  to  his  friend  :  — 

••We're  used  to  all  sorts  here,  you  know.  Why,  I've 
had  foks  grumble  because  they  couldn't  have  bear  steaks 
served  up  for  'em  in  July,  and  green  peas  in  October.  But 
I  most  always  manage  to  please  'em  if  they  are  a  little 
pudjiky  at  first.  A  good  dish  of  fried  trout  with  the  clear 
mountain  air  for  a  relish  soon  makes  'em  forget  that  there's 
anything  else  in  the  world  worth  the  eatin'  but  a  good  fried 
or  boiled  'laker." 

Both  men  laughed  :  but  the  captain's  dark,  shrewd  face 
wore  a  look  of  curious  perplexity  that  had  not  faded  iroin 
it  when,  on  the  following  day  as  his  staunch  little  steamer 
swung  gracefully  up  alongside  of  the  wharf  where  the  land- 
lord stood,  ready  to  welcome  the  guests  that  crowded  ashore, 
eager  to  secure  a  supper  and  lodgings  for  the  night,  he  nod- 
ded knowingly    under   cover   of  the   smoke-stack   toward  a 


242     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

couple  that,  waiting  until  the  last,  walked  slowly  and  delib- 
erately up  the  plank,  apparently  unmindful  of  the  curious 
looks  that  their  fellow-passengers,  as  well  as  the  guests 
from  the  hotel,  who,  according  to  custom,  had  strolled 
down  to  see  the  new  arrivals,  bestowed  upon  them. 

They  were  an  oddly-assorted  pair,  as  one  could  see  at  a 
glance.  The  man  small,  thin,  white-haired,  with  fierce 
black  eyes  looking  out  from  under  his  bushy,  gray  eye- 
brows, leaned  feebly  upon  the  arm  of  his  companion,  a 
woman  of  perhaps  forty,  whose  face  in  its  rich,  dark  beauty 
was  one  that  once  seen  could  not  easily  be  forgotten.  For 
an  instant  that  face  dazzled,  and  bewildered  the  beholder  with 
its  wondrous  richness  of  coloring,  its  perfect  symmetry  of 
outline  and  feature  ;  but  the  next  came  an  indefinable  chill, 
a  feeling  of  disappointment  that  was  almost  repulsion,  like 
one  who  grasping  a  beautiful  flower,  eager  to  inhale  its  fra- 
grance, finds  it  but  soulless,  scentless  wax,  merely  a  cun- 
ning imitation  of  Nature  at  her  best. 

Proud,  fair  and  placid,  not  an  emotion  either  of  sorrow, 
anger  or  love  had  left  its  impress  upon  that  coldly  regal 
face  ;  her  voice,  even,  was  modulated  to  one  uniform  tone, 
never  rising  with  sudden  heat  or  falling  to  any  possible  note 
of  tenderness  ;  but  a  level,  even  monotone,  that  formed  a 
strange  contrast  to  the-quick,  fiery  speech  of  her  husband, 
whose  words,  spoken  with  a  strong  foreign  accent,  were 
launched  at  one  with  the  whiz  and  rush  of  some  fierce  pro- 
jectile. 

"Oui  !  suppare  and  room  ready,  you  say  !  All  right,  so 
it  be.     Come,  we  follow  !" 

The  host  bowed  silently  ;  but  as  they  took  up  their  line 
of  march  to  the  hotel,  he  ventured  to  remark,  in  his  usual 
hospitable  fashion  : — 


A  TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-POT.  243 

"I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  make  you  comfortable  at 
KiDeo.  We're  pretty  full  now  ;  but  I've  reserved  one  of  my 
best  rooms  for  you.     I  hope  you'll  like  it." 

Not  a  word  in  reply — only  a  quick,  suspicious  glance 
from  the  old  man's  tierce  eyes,  while  his  stately  companion 
moved  on,  evidently  unheeding  or  unhearing  the  remark  as 
completely  as  she  did  the  chirp  of  the  grasshopper  in  the 
grass  beneath  her  feet,  or  the  soft  mountain  breeze  that 
kissed  her  proud,  cold  cheek  as  fearlessly  as  that  of  the  sun- 
burnt little  urchin  who  frolicked  among  the  buttercups  and 
purple  clover-heads  not  a  rod  away. 

Silently,  too,  without  criticism  or  comment,  the  strange 
pair  took  possession  of  the  room  assigned  them  ;  but  as  the 
landlord  withdrew  with  an  embarrassed  bow,  the  lady  said, 
curtly  : — 

•'Send  your  cook  to  me  for  directions." 
And  live   minutes  later    the  stout  matron  who  presided 
over  that  department  made  her  appearance,  her  face  full  of 
an  eager  curiosity  that  she  managed  to  disguise  beneath  an 
air  of  pleasant  solicitude. 

"I'm  the  head  cook,  ma'am,  and  I'll  take  any  orders  that 
you  may  wish  to  give." 

In  reply,  the  stranger  drew  from  the  depths  of  her  trunk 
a  curiously-formed  metal  tea-pot  of  a  size  to  contain  about 
three  ordinary  cups  of  tea ;  this,  with  two  small,  neatly 
folded  paper  packages,  she  placed  in  the  hand  of  the  won- 
dering domestic,  with  : — 

"There  are  two  drawings  of  tea — one  for  dinner  and  the 
other  for  supper.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  give  you  the 
measure  for  that  day  ;  it  is  as  precious  as  gold,  and  not  a 
grain  of  it  must  be  wasted.  The  tea  is  to  be  brought  to 
our  table  in  this  tea-pot,  that  I  may  pour  it  myself:"  and, 
she  added,  with  something  like  a  thrill  of  apprehension  run- 


244     RE-TOLD   TALES   OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

ning  through  her  smooth,  even  tones,  "you  must  be  very 
careful  not  to  make  any  mistake,  for  Monsieur  Defoe  will 
not  forgive  any  tampering  with  what  is  to  him  life  itself." 

" Yes,  ma'am.      I'll  see  that  everything  is  all  right." 

But  when  safe  in  her  own  domain,  the  puzzled  and  amused 
woman  related  her  story  to  her  assistants,  holding  up  the 
tea-pot  meanwhile  for  their  inspection,  one  of  them  ex- 
claimed, curiously  : — 

''Why,  its  just  exactly  like  the  one  that  Mr.  Brackett 
has  his  tea  made  in,  and  that  come  from  some  furrin  coun- 
try where  they  raise  tea.  He  says  he  promised  the  old 
mandarin  that  gave  it  to  him  that  he'd  always  drink  his  tea 
out  of  it,  and  that's  why  he  takes  it  about  with  him  every- 
where he  goes." 

"  'Twill  be  an  awful  bother  to  tell  which  is  which,"  solil- 
oquized the  cook,  looking  apprehensively  at  the  two  tea-pots 
that,  having  been  placed  side  by  side,  were  really  exact 
counterparts  one  of  the  other. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  though,  Molly  ;  you  just  tie  a  bit  of 
white  thread  around  the  handle  of  Mr.  Brackett's,  and  then 
we'll  be  sure  not  to  make  any  mistake." 

Molly  did  as  desired,  and  so  far  as  human  calculation 
could  go.  Monsieur  Defoe  was  sure  of  having  his  single  cup 
of  tea  at  each  meal  from  his  own  special  and  particular  tea- 
pot. 

The  days  passed  by,  and  still  the  mystery  that  from  the 
first  had  clung  about  the  Defoes  seemed  to  increase  rather 
than  diminish.  They  made  no  attempt  to  seek,  in  fact  they 
evidently  avoided,  the  companionship  of  their  fellow-guests, 
going  out  alone  or  with  a  guide  upon  their  frequent  fishing 
and  sailing  excursions,  never  speaking  unless  addressed, 
and  then   in  the  curt,    constrained   manner   of  people   who 


A   TEMPEST   IN  A  TEA-POT 


245 


were  determined  to  hold  as  little    intercourse  as    possible 
with  the  world  about  them. 

To  this  general  ostracism  of  their  fellow-guests  there 
was,  however,  one  exception,  and  that  was  found  in  the  per- 
son of  the  jolliest,  most  social  and  popular  gentleman  at 
the  hotel,  the  owner  of  the  Japanese  tea-pot  before  men- 
tioned, Mr.  Brackett. 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  the  unsocial 
Frenchman  really  took  some  little  pains  to  render  himself 
agreeable  to  the  hearty-tempered  Yankee,  who  in  his  turn 
took  him  in  tow,  with  much  the  same  benevolent  air  as  a 
great  burly  Newfoundland  might  deign  to  fraternize  with  a 
snappish  poodle  ;  and  the  two  fished,  rowed,  tramped  and 
played  croquet  together  with  an  equanimity  astonishing  to 
the  lookers-on,  who  all  to  a  man  predicted  some  sudden  and 
violent  rupture  to  an  intimacy  so  strange  and  unintelligible. 

In  due  time,  too,  that  rupture  came.  A  slight  disagree- 
ment in  regard  to  their  favorite  game,  a  good-natured  re- 
monstrance from  Mr.  Brackett.  met  by  a  fiery  rejoinder 
from  his  opponent,  more  words,  and  at  last  an  insulting 
epithet  hurled  from  the  lips  of  the  enraged  Frenchman  that 
even  Yankee  coolness  and  philosophy  could  not  overlook  ; 
and  the  two  met  at  table  or  upon  the  broad  piazza  of  the 
hotel  face  to  face  without  a  word  or  look  of  recognition  ; 
only  a  fiery  gleam  that  shot  now  and  then  from  Monsieur's 
little  black  eyes  revealed  how  fierce  was  the  smoldering 
passion  within  his  breast :  and,  as  evil  passions  seldom  wait 
long  for  their  opportunity,  an  apparently  trivial  mistake 
served  in  this  case  as  an  excuse  to  expend  the  pent  up  wrath 
of  days,  even  though  upon  an  unoffending  object. 

An  unexpected  influx  of  guests  just  at  dinner  time  had 
created  some  little  bustle  and  confusion  among  the  kitchen 
magnates  ;  so  that  when  the  pretty  waitress  who  served  at 


246     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

the  Defoe  table  brought  in  the  precious  tea-pot  as  usual,  her 
heightened  color  and  flurried  manner  instantly  revealed  to 
Monsieur's  suspicious  eyes  that  she  was  somewhat  bewil- 
dered by  the  multiplicity  of  her  duties  ;  and  with  a  selfish 
instinct  characteristic  of  the  man,  he  glanced  from  her 
flushed  face  to  the  sacred  burden  that  she  bore,  half  expect- 
ing to  see  some  horrible  dent  or  mutilation  of  his  cherished 
treasure. 

It  was  intact,  and  he  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and  set- 
tled himself  back  comfortably  in  his  chair  ;  but  as  his  wife 
proceeded  as  usual  to  pour  the  tea,  his  eye  caught  sight  of 
some  secret  sign  or  mark  visible  only  to  himself,  and  utter- 
ing a  loud  exclamation,  he  started  up,  his  face  so  inflamed 
with  rage  that  he  seemed  a  demon  rather  than  a  man,  while 
in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion,  he  cried  fiercely  :  "Sacre  ! 
It  is  the  tea  urn  of  my  foe,  he  that  I  do  hate  ;  thus  do  I 
spit  upon  the  accursed  scoundrel,  they  call  him  Brackett ! 
How  dare  you  insult  me  with  the  urn  from  which  he  drink?" 
and  seizing,  in  his  fury,  the  offending  vessel  filled  to  the 
brim  as  it  was  with  scalding  tea,  he  made  as  if  he  would 
have  thrown  its  contents  in  the  face  of  the  frightened  girl, 
who,  with  one  shriek  of  uncontrollable  terror,  fled  toward 
the  door,  closely  pursued  by  the  enraged  man  who  was  evi- 
dently too  mad  with  passion  to  realize  in  the  least  what  he 
was  about.  So  sudden  and  unexpected  had  been  the  out- 
break, that  of  the  fifty  or  more  guests  in  the  crowded  din- 
ing-room, no  man  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  interfere  for 
the  poor  girl's  protection,  as  she  sped  across  the  room 
closely  followed  by  her  pursuer,  who  held  the  offending  tea 
urn  aloft,  ready  at  the  first  opportunity  to  hurl  its  contents 
at  her  unprotected  head. 

But  at  the  door  a  ready  and  efficient  ally  showed  himself 
in  the  person  of  Tom  Cross,  a  well-known  guide  and  hunter, 


A  TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-POT.  247 

who,  barring  the  doorway  through  which  she  had  escaped 
with  his  own  sturdy,  well-developed  figure,  managed  with 
one  brawny  arm  to  resist  the  onslaught  of  the  tempestuous 
little  Frenchman  as  easily  as  he  would  have  put  aside  an 
angry  child,  while  a  smile  of  grim  humor  brightened  his 
dark,  determined  face  as  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  soft  and  low 
that  it  seemed  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  the  stout,  burly 
frame  and  bronzed  face  of  its  owner  : — 

';This  won't  do.  sir.  We  don't  treat  women  like  that  up 
this  way." 

For  a  moment  the  Frenchman  was  silent,  glaring  upon 
him  with  the  impotent  rage  of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  in  a 
grasp  against  which  it  is  utter  folly  to  rebel ;  a  crowd  of 
excited  guests  had.  too.  by  this  time  gathered  about  the  two, 
while  his  wife,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  spoke  a  few 
words  in  some  strange  foreign  tongue  that  seemed  to  have  a 
wonderful  power  over  him  ;  for  he  dropped  his  head  help- 
lessly, while  a  painful  flush  rose  to  his  pale,  wrinkled  fore- 
head, and  he  whispered  hoarsely,  shrinking  back  as  he 
spoke  from  the  gaze  of  the  curious  eyes  about  him  : — 

'•I  do  forgive  her  the  mistake;  she  know  no  better. 
But."  he  added,  penitently,  for  his  wife's  ear  alone,  ''I  can 
have  no  pardon  for  my  own  mad  self." 

It  was  impossible  to  refrain  from  pitying  him,  as,  com- 
pletely exhausted,  he  clung  to  her  arm,  while  in  majestic 
silence,  cold  and  self-contained  as  usual,  she  half  carried 
him  up  the  long  stairway  that  led  to  their  apartments. 

••I  will  help  him,  madam;"  and  a  strong  arm  drew  the 
helpless,  trembling  one  within  its  firm  embrace,  while  the 
face  that  in  the  doorway  a  moment  ago  had  awed  the  angry 
man  with  its  stern  impenetrability,  now  beamed  with  such 
honest  kindliness  and  good  will  that  the  stately  dame  fore- 
bore  to  refuse,   as  had   been   her  first   impulse,    the  timely 


248  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

offer  :  but  acknowledging    the    favor    with    a  gesture,   half 
proud,  half  grateful,  she  remarked,  with  a  sigh  :  — 

"Thank  you  ;  he  needs  a  stronger  arm  than  mine.     He 
will  be  ill  for  days  after  this." 

The  old  man,  whose  little  strength  had,  by  the  time  they 
reached  his  room,  completely  deserted  him,  was  comfortably 
disposed  upon  a  couch,  and  his  escort,  with  the  natural 
courtesy  of  his  class,  bowed  low  to  the  lady  as  he  turned  to 
leave  the  room,  when  suddenly  her  voice  arrested  his  steps 
upon  the  threshold,  as  she  asked  abruptly  : — 
"Who  are  you?" 

"Tom  Cross,  at  your  service,  ma'am.  I'm  a  guide,  and" 
— with  an  eye  to  business — "I've  got  a  clean,  new  'birch' 
that  I'd  like  to  take  you  out  in  at  any  time  ;"  adding,  with 
no  little  pride  in  voice  and  manner,  "You  won't  find  a  man 
that  can  beat  Tom  Cross  with  a  paddle  if  you  look  all  the 
way  from  Canada  to  the  lake." 

The  lady  smiled  and  nodded  with  a  grace  and  affability 
that,  as  honest  Tom  afterward  declared,  actually  took  away 
his  breath  for  a  whole  minute. 

"He,"  she  nodded  toward  the  couch,  "has  his  afternoon 
nap  between  four  and  five,  and  I  would  like  you  to  be  in  at- 
tendance with  your  boat  at  that  hour." 

"That  I  will,  ma'am  ;  I'll  be  on  hand  at  four,  sharp;" 
and  Tom  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room,  with  an  odd,  be- 
wildered consciousness  about  him  as  of  the  presence  of 
something  or  somebody  that  had  been  very  near  to  him  far 
away  back  in  the  misty  shadows  of  his  half  forgotten  child- 
hood. "There's  something  in  her  voice  and  the  turn  of  her 
head  that  makes  me  think,"  and  he  laughed  merrily  at  the 
idea,  "of  my  old  grandame  in  the  Provinces.  When  I 
was  there  last  year,  old  as  she  is,  she  used  to  speak  in  just 
that  sweet,  hard  voice  when  she  asked  me  about  the  money 


A  TEMPEST  FN   A  TEA-POT.  L;i'.» 

that  I  had  laid  up,  and  urged  me  to  get  all  I  could,  for  it 
was  the  best  thiug  that  man  or  woman  could  have  in  this 
world.  I  wonder  what  this  proud  lady  would  say  to  hear 
herself  compared  to  a  poor  old  Canadian  dame." 

He  laughed  again,  one  of  those  curious,  soundless  laughs 
that  men  who  live  much  alone  with  Nature  are  apt  to  in- 
dulge in:  an  expression  of  amusement,  unmistakable,  yet 
silent,  like  that  so  often  observed  in  the  more  intelligent  of 
dumb  animals,  whose  merriment,  while  patent  to  the  most 
casual  observer,  never  disturbs  the  outer  serenity  of  their 
faces  as  it  does  that  of  man  alone. 

That  afternoon,  floating  upon  the  placid  surface  of  the 
lake,  whose  shiny  waves  rippled  dreamily  about  the  frail 
craft,  as  if  softly  caressing  its  satiny  sides,  the  young  man, 
whose  solitary  life  had  made  him  especially  reticent  so 
tar  as  his  own  plans  and  purposes  were  concerned,  sud- 
denly found  his  tongue  loosed  as  by  magic,  and  in  reply 
to  a  few  careless  questions  from  his  companion,  related 
more  of  his  life  history  than  even  the  people  among  whom 
he  had  lived  from  boyhood  had  ever  heard  or  dreamed. 

••Yes."  in  reply  to  a  question  of  his  nationality.  "I  was 
born  in  Canada,  of  French  parents,  and  lived  with  my  old 
grandmother  there  until  I  was  fifteen,  when  I  came  here  as 
a  chore  boy  about  the  hotel.  The  landlord  nicknamed  me 
•Tom,'  and  so  everybody  called  me  Tom  Cross  ;  but  my 
real  name  is  'Amibel  de  la  Crosse.'  " 

Did  the  canoe  give  a    sudden   lurch  just    at  that   moment 

and  frighten  the  lady  ?  for,    with   a  sudden,    sharp  cry,  she 

made  as  if  she  would  have  risen  to  her  feet,   while  a  face 

white  as  the  face  of  the  dead  looked  out  at  the  young  man 

from  beneath  the  drooping  brim  of  her  hat,    as  holding  up 

one  hand  with  a  quick,  warning  gesture,  she  cried  sharply  : 

••Not  that !   Mon  Dieu,  you  are  deceiving  me  !" 
17 


250     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AKD  SHORES  OF  MAIKE. 

"Down!  Be  still,  or  you  will  swamp  us!"  cried  poor 
Tom,  with  a  frantic  endeavor  to  keep  the  frail  craft  from 
capsizing  with  its  helpless  freight.  "One  must  keep  very 
still  in  a  birch,"  he  added,  in  explanation  ;  and  drawing  a 
long  breath  of  relief  as  the  canoe  righted  itself,  while  he 
experienced  a  feeling  of  profound  thankfulness  that  he  had 
not  been  left  floundering  in  the  middle  of  the  lake  with  a 
drowning  woman  clinging  to  him.  thus  making  his  destruc- 
tion as  well  as  her  own  almost  certain. 

Perhaps  the  haughty  dame  resented  the  tone  of  command 
that  he  had  so  unconsciously  assumed  ;  for  she  sat  perfectly 
silent  and  motionless  for  several  moments,  and  when  she 
again  spoke  the  kindly  condescension  had  vanished  from 
her  tone  ;  instead,  she  spoke  with  a  sharpness  that  had  be- 
neath it  an  ill-concealed  chord  of  either  curiosity  or  dread. 

••You  lived  with  your  grandmother,  you  say?  Were  your 
parents  dead?" 

''My  father  was." 

"And  your — mother?" 

"Deserted,  abandoned  me  in  my  cradle." 

Everybody  said  that  Tom  Cross  was  one  of  the  easiest, 
best-tempered  fellows  in  the  world,  with  his  gay,  careless 
French  temperament ;  but  if  they  could  have  seen  him  then 
— the  sternly  compressed  lips,  white  and  set  beneath  the 
thick,  black  mustache,  and  a  smoldering  fire  in  the  dark 
eyes  that  told  of  a  life-long  hidden  bitterness — they  would 
have  realized  that  beneath  that  careless  exterior  there  were 
depths  of  feeling,  of  bitter  feeling  that  none  had,  and  few 
would  care  to  fathom. 

A  long,  shuddering  thrill  passed  over  the  woman  oppo- 
site, and  she  pressed  her  hand  for  an  instant  to  her  heart, 
as  she  asked  : 

"Do  you  know  why  she  did  so?" 


A    TEMPEST    IN    A    TEA-POT.  251 

"Yes  ;"  and  he  showed  his  white  teeth  for  an  instant  in  a 
mocking  smile.  "She  was  poor.  A  rich  man  saw  her 
and  loved  her  beauty.  He  said  to  her,  'I  will  make  you 
my  wife  :  you  shall  wear  silks  and  jewels,  live  idly  and 
sleep  softly  ;  but  the  boy  I  will  not  have.  He  looks  at  me 
with  his  father's  eyes  ;  yes,  and  I  hate  him.  Leave  him 
with  the  old  grandame,  and  come  you  with  me.'  And  she" 
— the  woman  beat  eagerly  forward  and  looked  into  his  face 
with  a  strange,  pleading  look  in  her  proud  eyes. 

"Well?" 

••Went  with  him;  for  she  loved  gold  better  than  her 
child." 

As  he  finished  speaking  the  canoe  grated  upon  the  sandy 
beach,  while  its  owner,  apparently  forgetful  of  all  that  had 
passed,  as  he  carefully  lifted  the  lady  over  the  side  in  his 
strong  arms,  remarked  modestly,  and  touching  his  hat 
with  the  air  of  graceful  courtesy  natural  to  the  man  :  — 

"I  will  be  proud  of  your  company  again,  madam,  when 
you  will  like  another  sail  in  my  birch.  I  can  show  you 
very  many  pleasant  places  about  here  any  fine  day  when 
the  lake  is  smooth." 

She  looked  at  him  silently  for  a  moment,  then  with  a 
quick,  burning  blush  overspreading  her  face,  she  dropped 
into  his  hand  the  bit  of  silver  due  for  his  services  as  boat- 
man, and  turning,  without  a  word,  walked  swiftly  up  the 
path  to  the  hotel,  where,  for  the  next  three  days,  not  one 
of  the  curious  guests  caught  a  glimpse  either  of  herself  or 
husband. 

A  wonder-loving  young  lady  who  occupied  the  adjoining 
room,  told  in  mysterious  whispers  of  stormy  altercations 
and  tearful  pleadings  and  reproaches ;  but  the  landlord, 
when  questioned  upon  the  subject,  gravely  remarked  that 
"Monsieur  was  very  ill,  and   his  wife   devoted   herself  en- 


252     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

tirely  to  the  care  of  him,"  an  explanation  that  proved  sat- 
isfactory to  all  but  one,  and  that  one  the  humble,  unnoted 
guide,  Tom  Cross. 

He  was  not  given  to  making  mysteries  and  weaving  ro- 
mances about  the  scores  of  strange  people  that  he  met  in 
his  daily  life,  this  unlearned,  unimaginative  young  fellow, 
who  held  himself  ready,  at  two  dollars  a  day,  to  act  the 
part  of  guide,  purveyor  and  cook  to  the  oddest,  grumpiest 
party  who  had  ever  been  lured  thither  by  the  lovely  scenery 
and  famous  trouting  privileges,  to  find  a  delightful  novelty 
in  penetrating  the  recesses  of  the  unbroken  forest,  and  for 
a  few  days  or  weeks  to  live  the  unrestrained,  care-free  life 
of  a  genuine  woodsman.  And  yet  the  strange  lady's  un- 
mistakable emotion,  so  utterly  at  variance  with  her  usual 
air  of  cold  indifference,  was  a  mystery  that  he  found  him- 
self unable  either  to  solve  or  forget. 

Perhaps,  and  for  an  instant  his  heart  burned  hot  within 
him,  perhaps  she  might  have  known  his  mother,  have  heard 
the  story  from  her  own  lips,  and  was  naturally  astonished 
and  agitated  at  hearing  it  again  and  from  so  unexpected  a 
source.  But  this  supposition  did  not  seem,  after  all,  a  rea- 
sonable one,  when  he  remembered  to  have  heard  his  grand- 
mother, who  mentioned  the  subject  as  seldom  as  possible, 
say  that  his  mother's  husband  was  a  tea  merchant,  and  that 
she  had  sailed  with  him  for  China  as  soon  as  they  were 
married. 

This  grand  lady,  who  spoke  such  goodEnglish,  and  wore 
such  rich  and  fashionable  attire,  had  surely  never  been  in 
that  uheathen  land,"  as  Tom  called  it ;  for  the  simple  fellow 
had  the  idea  that  all  foreigners  migrating  to  that  far-off 
region  wore,  of  necessity,  the  conventional  pig-tail  and  loose 
trousers  of  the  race  with  whom  they  had  associated  them- 
selves, and  of  course  spoke  a  language  to  match  the  same. 


A   TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-POT.  253 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  third  day  since  that  memorable 
sail,  and  the  guide  sat  alone  upon  a  large  rock  that  jutted 
out  into  the  water  at  a  secluded  part  of  the  shore,  lazily 
trolling  for  the  fish  that  at  that  hour  often  ventured  so  close 
to  the  beach  that  their  crimson  and  gold-spotted  sides 
gleamed  up  through  the  transparent  water  as  if  in  mockery 
of  the  angler's  presence  and  skill. 

Tom  was  a  crack  fisherman,  as  everybody  allowed  ;  but 
just  now  it  was  evident  that  his  mind  was  more  intent  upon 
other  things  ;  for  laying  down  his  rod  at  the  very  instant 
that  a  big  trout  wras  about  to  make  a  dart  at  the  bait,  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  silver  coin,  and  turning  it 
over  and  over  in  his  broad  palm,  silently  regarded  it  with 
a  curious,  half-wistful  look. 

••I  have  seen  no  such  piece  of  silver  money  before.  Even 
the  grandames,  who  have  a  stocking  full  of  silver,  have 
nothing  like  this.  Perhaps,"  and  a  sudden  glow  sprang  to 
his  dark  face.  ;iit  is  a  Chinese  coin." 

He  spoke  the  last  words  aloud  in  his  eager  unconscious- 
ness, and  his  heart  gave  a  quick  bound  as  a  low  voice  close 
at  his  elbow  remarked,  composedly  ; — 

"Yes,  it  is  Chinese  money;  but  quite  as  good  silver  as 
your  quarter  dollars  in  this  country." 

It  was  the  stranger  lady,  and  there  was  a  half-defiant, 
half-anxious  tone  in  her  voice  that  seemed  scarcely  in  keep- 
ing with  the  calm,  cold  beauty  of  her  regal  face,  or  the 
easy  indifference  of  her  attitude  as  she  leaned  slightly 
against  the  trunk  of  a  gigantic  pine  that  overshadowed 
them  both. 

The  young  man  started  up  in  some  confusion  ;  but  with  a 
peremptory  wave  of  her  jeweled  hand  she  bade  him  be  si- 
lent, while  she  spoke  in  her  usual  low,  even  tones  :— . 


254  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"You  are  poor  and  obscure,"  she  began,  abruptly,  "and 
your  daily  life  is  one  of  toil  and  hardships.  You  earn 
your  money  a  few  dollars  at  a  time,  and  so  slow,  that  by  even 
with  the  most  careful  economy  you  will  be  long  past  mid- 
dle age  before  you  can  hope  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  a 
home  and  fireside  of  your  own." 

He  nodded  his  head  gravely.  Perhaps  the  memory  of  a 
certain  pair  of  laughing  hazel  eyes,  whose  long  lashes 
always  sank  shyly  beneath  the  love-light  in  his  own,  lent  a 
bitterness  to  the  truth  that  this  strange  woman  so  pitilessly 
held  up  before  him,  and  made  him  feel,  *for  the  first 
time  in  all  his  life,  angrily  discontented  with  his  humble 
lot.  But  he  made  no  reply  in  words,  only  drew  his  black 
brows  to  a  deeper  frown,  and  tapped  sullenly  with  the 
strange  coin  upon  the  bare  face  of  the  rock  beneath.  She 
paused  a  moment,  as  if  to  gather  new  courage,  then  went 
on,  resolutely  : — 

"I  am  rich,  richer  than  you  can  even  imagine,  and  all  I 
have  now,  and  will  have  at  my  husband's  death,  may  be 
yours  as  my  own  and  only  son." 

For  one  dizzy  moment,  mountain,  lake  and  shore  were 
blended  in  one  wild,  confused  chaos.  Familiar  things  that 
all  his  life  he  had  looked  upon  with  careless,  indifferent 
eyes,  seemed  suddenly  transformed  into  something  weird 
and  strange,  and  he  trembled  and  put  out  his  hands  grop- 
ingly as  one  walking  in  the  midst  of  a  great  and  sudden 
darkness  that  has  fallen  upon  him  without  a  moment's 
warning. 

Even  in  his  bewilderment,  however,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  warm  thrill  of  filial  affection  that  welled  up  from  his  hon- 
est heart  toward  the  woman  standing  there  in  the  purple 
twilight,  pale  but  unruffled,  as  if  this  revelation  were  noth- 
ing more  to  her  than  a  mere  business  transaction,   and  he 


A  TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-POT.  255 

lifted  his  eyes  in  a  mute  appeal,  as  if  to  read  in  that  beau- 
tiful face  some  answering  emotion  of  motherly  love  ;  but  in 
vain.  She  never  even  stretched  out  her  hand  to  meet  the 
one  he  had  unconsciously  extended,  while  not  a  thrill  either 
of  joy  or  pain  disturbed  her  fair  face,  as  she  remarked,  in 
an  explanatory  tone  : — 

"If  I  had  had  children  by  Monsieur  Defoe  to  inherit  his 
fortune  I  should  never  have  claimed  you  as  my  son,  as  I 
should  have  had  nothing  to  bestow  upon  you." 

'•Nothing?"  he  gasped,   harshly;  but  she  took  no  notice 

of  his  emotion  except  by  a  slight  frown. 
» 
"Now — and  Monsieur    sees    it    as    I  do — we    can  do  no 

better  than  to  accept  you  as  our  heir.     A  private  tutor  and 

a  few  years"  travel  abroad    will    make    you    presentable,   I 

think,  in  spite  of  your  early  years  of  obscurity  and  igno- 

rance.      But."  she  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  half  ashamed 

to  speak  the    words,    "you   will   take    our    name   and  pass 

with  the  world  as  our  adopted  son.     The  fact  of  my  earlv 

marriage  is  to  remain  a  secret  between  us  forever." 

The  young  man  lifted  his  head  and  looked  sternly  into 
her  expectant  face.  His  eyes  flashed,  and  he  drew  himself 
up  with  an  air  and  gesture  every  whit  as  proud  as  her  own, 
while  he  replied  with  bitter  emphasis  : — 

"I  will  never  sell  myself,  even  to  her  who  will  not  be 
called  my  mother  !  It  is  no  boy,  madam,  but  a  man,  and 
he  will  be  poor  forever  :  but  he  cares  not  for  you  who  are 
ashamed  to  call  him  son." 

The  poor  fellow's  voice  faltered  as  he  spoke  the  last  bitter 
words,  and  leaning  his  head  against  the  rough  tree  trunk  as 
naturally  as  if  it  had  been  the  bosom  of  a  friend,  tears, 
such  as  he  had  not  shed  for  many  a  long  year,  ran  down 
his  bronzed  cheeks  aud  dropped  upon  the  mossy  turf  be- 
neath. 


256     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

In  all  his  toilsome,  rough  life,  no  pain  like  this  had  ever 
wrung  his  stout  heart  to  tears  that  he  scorned  even  while  he 
could  not  check  them. 

Madame  alone  seemed  perfectly  unmoved.  She  had  evi- 
dently schooled  herself  to  act  the  part  that  she  had  chosen 
with  dignity  and  decision  :  no  gentle  emotion  was  to  inter- 
fere between  herself  and  her  purpose. 

"You  are  excited  and  astonished,"  she  said,  calmly, 
"and  do  not  realize  what  you  are  saying.  Think  it  over 
and  let  me  know  your  decision  in  the  morning,  for  we 
must  leave  by  the  afternoon  boat.      Good-night." 

Not  a  farewell  look,  not  a  smile  even,  as  her  stately  fig- 
ure disappeared  through  one  of  the  leafy  forest  paths  so 
quickly  that  the  bewildered  man  was  half  ready  to  believe 
that  what  he  had  heard  was  but  a  dream  after  all. 

Trusted  and  liked  by  all,  he  had  no  familiar  friend  and 
confidant  to  whom  he  could  go  for  sympathy  and  counsel  in 
this  sudden  and  unexpected  strait ;  and,  following  the  nat- 
ural instincts  of  one  whose  life  has  been  largely  passed  in 
the  unpeopled  solitudes  of  the  forest,  he  naturally  sought 
them  among  the  scenes  most  congenial  to  his  silent,  self- 
contained  nature — the  voiceless,  yet  never  lonely  forest 
glades  and  walks,  pathless  to  a  stranger  eye,  yet  as  familiar 
to  his  foot  as  are  the  city  streets  to  one  who  has  trodden 
them  from  his  babyhood. 

The  first  gray  dawn  was  creeping  over  the  eastern  moun- 
tains like  a  faithful  watchman,  awaking  the  topmost  peaks, 
while  the  lower  ridges,  still  enshrouded  in  darkness,  gave 
no  sign  as  yet  of  throwing  off  their  nightly  slumber. 

Even  the  lake  itself  looked  weird  and  ghostly  in  its  veil 
of  silvery  mist,  that,  as  Tom  Cross  leisurely  paddled  his 
light  birch  across  its  sleeping  face,  was  gradually  lifted  as 
if  in   graceful   acknowledgment    of  this   early    visit  on  the 


A  TEMPEST  IN  A  TEA-PUT.  257 

part  of  its  old  friend,  whose  troubled  brow  gradually  cleared 
as  point  after  point,  long  familiar  to  his  eyes,  came  into 
view,  and  from  the  thickets  the  birds,  thrifty  little  house- 
holders, began  to  bestir  themselves  and  send  forth  a  social 
greeting  to  their  friends  and  neighbors — a  greeting  so  fa- 
miliar to  the  young  boatman  that  he  broke  into  a  cheery, 
answering  whistle,  laughing  aloud  as  his  tiny  friends,  evi- 
dently entering  into  the  "'joke  of  the  thing,"  replied  with  a 
burst  of  song  that  filled  the  fresh,  sweet  morning  air  with 
melody,  and  fell  upon  his  ear  with  that  familiar,  fond  sig- 
nificance that  only  those  who  are  perfectly  en  rapport  with 
Nature  in  her  most  gracious  moods  can  really  understand 
and  enjoy. 

"Aha.  Monsieur  sly-pate  !"  he  cried,  as  a  sleek,  shining 
head,  with  two  black  beady  eyes  appeared  above  the  water 
evidently  swimming  for  the  canoe.  "After  your  breakfast 
eh  ?"  and  taking  a  cracker  from  his  pocket  he  scattered  it 
in  crumbs  in  the  bottom  of  the  birch,  and  resting  his  paddle 
waited  in  perfect  silence  the  approach  of  his  curious  guest, 
who  was  none  other  than  a  large  muskrat,  who  approached 
as  fearlessly  as  if  the  light  craft  had  been  his  own  private 
castle  upon  the  opposite  bank,  and,  climbing  over  the  side 
began  leisurely  to  pick  up  the  crumbs  that  Tom  had  scat- 
tered for  him. 

It  was  curious  to  see  with  what  an  air  of  friendly  good- 
fellowship  the  stout  backwoodsman  and  the  defenceless  lit- 
tle animal  regarded  each  other. 

Shyly  trustful,  the  small  creature  made  no  objection  to 
the  gentle  stroking  of  his  companion's  hand  :  indeed,  he 
■even  lingered  a  moment  after  finishing  his  breakfast,  as  if 
to  show  his  entire  confidence  in  the  other's  good  will,  and 
when  he  at  last  disappeared  over  the  side  of  the  boat  with 
•a  regretful    t*ker-plunk  !"    Tom    promptly    replied    with    a 


258      RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

grave  "good-morning,"  as  if  in  answer  to  a  parting  saluta- 
tion intended  for  his  ear  alone. 

As  the  morning  brightened,  and  the  sweet  mountain 
breeze,  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  pine  and  fern  swept 
down  to  meet  him,  touching  his  bared  forehead  with  a  ca- 
ressing tenderness  soft  as  a  mother's  kiss,  or  playfully  ruf- 
fling his  dark  curls  yet  damp  with  the  early  mists,  the  bet- 
ter, the  real  nature  of  the  man  expanded  and  brightened  as 
in  recognition  of  their  kinship  to  him  who,  shut  out  from 
the  love  of  human  kindred,  found  his  heart  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  an  exultant  tenderness  that  words  are  power- 
less to  describe.  He,  man, — "A  little  lower  than  the  an- 
gels, with  dominion  over  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  birds  of 
the  air,  and  the  fishes  of  the  sea" — ruler,  king  and  brother. 

Every  nerve  in  his  body  responded  to  that  blessed  influ- 
ence, although  he  was  no  poet,  no  philosopher,  this  rude,  un- 
tutored woodsman;  but  there  in  the  silent  forest,  with  only 
the  tall,  solemn  pines  towering  above  his  head,  and  the 
mossy  sod,  set  thick  with  dewy  harebells  at  his  feet,  he 
knelt  and  laid  his  dark  cheek  tenderly,  reverently,  upon  the 
lap  of  his  real  mother,  while  the  rustling  pines  seemed  to 
whimper  a  tender  benediction  upon  the  head  that  Nature 
herself  had  honored  with  the  crown  of  sonship. 

That  afternoon  the  strange  pair  that  had  been  a  '-seven 
days'  wonder"  at  Kineo,  left,  silent  and  mysterious  to  the 
last,  and  life  at  the  lake  flowed  on  as  placidly  as  before  ; 
while  nobody  dreamed  that,  in  the  favorite  guide  whose 
boat  and  services  were  in  even  greater  demand  than  ever 
before,  they  saw  one  who  had  refused  a  princely  fortune 
among  men  that  he  might  reign  a  loved  and  loving  Adam 
in  his  own  unclaimed  forest  realm,  where,  in  grandeur  un. 
marred  by  pride,  Nature  joyfully  poured  her  richest  treas- 
ures into  the  lap  of  him  who  owned  and  felt  her  great  uni- 
versal motherhood. 


Betsey;  or  the  jiGM-mster's  jieGiet 


BETSEY  :  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER  S  SECRET. 


261 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET. 


''She  was  an  excellent  woman  ;  capable,  industrious, well 
meaning,  and  yet  few  people  really  liked  her  or  could  find 
pleasure  in  her  society,  and  all  just  because  she  had  an 
itching  linger." 

"An  itching  fahn,  you  mean  ?" 

"No,  I  mean  an  itching  finger.  Covetousness  was  not 
one  of  her  faults  by  any  means." 

We  were  on  our  way  home  from  the  funeral,  and  as  my 
friend  spoke  my  eye  fell  upon  a  little  rosy  cheeked  maiden, 
a  grandchild  of  the  deceased,  whose  innocent  face,  as  she 
walked  decorously  by  her  parent's  side,  expressed  simply 
wonder  and  curiosity,  with  not  a  trace  of  the  grief  that  even 
childhood's  careless  nature  feels  at  parting  with  those  it 
loves  ;  and  with  a  sudden  intuition  in  regard  to  the  state  of 
affairs,  I  remarked  confidently  : — 

"No  one  seems  to  be  particularly  grieved  at  parting  with 
her.  Her  family  and  friends  are  grave  and  subdued  as  is 
fitting  on  such  an  occasion,  but  they  show  no  signs  of  vio- 
lent grief:"  and  as  my  companion  made  no  comment  I 
added  after  a  moment's  silence  :  — 

"Is  the  offending  linger  to  be  blamed  for  that?" 

"Yes,"  most  decidedly,  "you  see,"  she  went  on,  seeing 
I  suppose,  that  my  "mouth  was  made  up"  as  my  mother 
used  to  say,  "for  a  story  :"  "I  have  known  Betsey  Rice 
ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  for  we  were  born  and 
brought  up  in  the  same  town,  and  always  went  to  school  to- 


262      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

gether  when  we  were  children,  so  I've  had  as  good  a  chance 
to  know  her  as  anybody  could  have." 

Here  her  voice  faltered  a  little,  and  she  cast  a  backward 
glance  at  the  new  made  grave  that  the  sexton  was  already 
filling  up  with  the  dull  yellow  clay,  while  something  that 
looked  suspiciously  like  a  tear  glistened  for  a  moment  upon 
her  faded  cheek,  as  she  continued  in  a  subdued  tone  : — 

"She  was  the  oldest  of  a  big  family,  and  as  each  new 
one  made  its  appearance,  of  course  the  overworked  and 
care  worn  mother  was  only  too  glad  to  get  what  help  she 
could  from  her  oldest  child,  and  I  suppose  that  it  was  in  her 
constant  care  of  the  little  ones  that  Betsey  came  to  have 
that  way  of  prying  into  everything  that  was  going  on — dip- 
ping that  then  useful  finger  into  every  pie  that  was  made 
under  the  home  roof,  and  naturally  growing  to  feel  that  it 
was  her  duty  to  see  that  nothing  was  done  by  the  younger 
ones  in  the  way  of  work  or  play,    without  her   supervision. 

At  school  it  was  the  same.  If  two  or  three  of  us  were 
having  a  little  private  confab  all  to  ourselves,  as  we  sup- 
posed, Betsey  Rice's  sharp  ears  were  sure  to  hear,  while 
her  equally  sharp  tongue  never  failed  to  proclaim  from  the 
house  top  what  we — poor  little  fools — had  imagined  safe  in 
our  own  keeping. 

Of  course  this  propensity  for  finding  out  everybody's  se- 
crets made  her  decidedly  unpopular  among  her  school-mates 
in  spite  of  a  natural  kindliness  that  always  prompted  her  to 
bind  up  a  bruised  finger,  to  help  a  dull  scholar  through  a 
hard  lesson,  or  to  share  her  own  dinner  with  the  poorest, 
most  neglected  child  in  school. 

In  any  trouble  she  was  certainly  a  comfort,  but  under 
ordinary  circumstances  a  nuisance  and  a  torment.  I  have 
known  her  to  run  a  mile  to  get  some  medicine  for  a  sick 
school-mate,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  relieved  of  his  pain,  to 


BETSEY;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTEB'S  SECRET.  263 

go  prying  and  questioning   round   to  find    out   if  he  hadn't 
been  stealing  unripe  fruit  out  of  the  neighbors'  orchards. 

There  was  one  thing  that,  through  life,  she  never  seemed 
to  have  the  faintest  conception  of,  and  that  was  her  own 
unpopularity.  No  matter  how  much  she  was  snubbed  and 
shunned  by  her  mates,  her  overweening  estimate  of  her  own 
excellencies  never  allowed  her  to  feel  in  the  least  humbled 
or  mortified.  She  couldn't  and  wouldn't  believe  that  any 
one  who  knew  her  could  fail  to  appreciate  and  admire  so 
perfect  a  creature  as  she  honestly  believed  herself  to  be. 

Her  brothers  and  sisters  were  as  jolly,  good-natured  a 
set  of  boys  and  girls  as  you'd  find  anywhere,  and  -'Betsey's 
ways"  were  to  them  oftener  a  source  of  ridicule  than  anger. 

It  was  ••nuts"  for  the  whole  family  when  that  most  mis- 
chievous of  the  whole  lot,  great  hulking,  six  foot  Jack, 
waited  upon  pretty  Janet  Springer  home  from  singing 
school,  dressed  in  her  aunt  Emmeline's  hood  and  cloak  on 
purpose  to  mislead  poor  anxious  sister  Betsey,  who  had  hid- 
den herself  behind  the  elderberry  bushes  to  find  out  who 
he  was  "beauing  home,"  and  who,  in  the  abundance  of  her 
sisterly  care,  took  occasion  the  next  day  to  remind  him, 
with  an  air  of  grave  superiority,  that :  — 

"'Emmeline  Springer  was  altogether  too  old  for  him — a 
very  likely  woman  to  be  sure,  but  not  the  one  for  a  young, 
smart  fellow  like  him.  These  marriages  where  the  wife 
was  so  much  the  oldest  hardly  ever  turned  out  well." 

Of  course  she  found  out  the  trick  that  had  been  played 
upon  her,  and  I  believe  she  laid  it  up  against  poor  Janet 
till  the  day  of  her  death,  for,  although  all  the  family  ap- 
proved of  Jack's  choice,  and  gave  the  dear  girl  a  large 
place  in  their  kindly  hearts.  I  never  heard  Betsey  speak  a 
word  in  her  praise,  and  she  never  visited  them  without 
coming  home  with  a  whole  budget  of  "Janet's  mismanage- 


264     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

ments,"  from  the  pans  full  of  dry  bread  that  should  have 
been  made  into  puddings  and  fritters,  to  the  white  darns  in 
the  toes  of  little  Tommy's  drab  and  scarlet  stockings. 

That  meddlesome  finger  had  been  in  every  pie,  detecting 
the  slightest  lack  or  superfluity,  according  to  her  own  stand- 
ard. 

Of  all  the  girls  of  the  Rice  family,  little  Rache,  the 
youngest,  was  the  prettiest,  sweetest  and  best  beloved,  not 
only  by  her  own  family,  but  by  everybody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. It  seems  as  if  I  could  see  her  now,  with  her  sweet, 
pure  face,  for  all  the  world  like  a  pale  pink  apple  blossom, 
and  her  soft  brown  hair,  that  always  rippled  and  waved  so 
prettily  above  her  white  forehead,  nestling  under  Betsey's 
wing,  for  she  was  always  a  shy  little  thing,  only  too  thank- 
ful to  keep  in  her  older  sister's  shadow — one  of  the  kind 
that  never  seem  to  have  been  made  for  the  rough  work  of 
life  any  more  than  a  humming  bird  is  to  scratch  for  worms. 

That  disposition  just  suited  Betsey,  of  course,  for  she 
could  team  her  round  just  as  she  pleased,  and  she  couldn't 
always  do  that  with  the  others,  let  her  try  ever  so  hard. 
But  there  came  a  time  when  even  Rache  showed  a  will  of 
her  own. 

It  was  the  winter  that  she  was  seventeen  when  she  first 
saw  Paul  Westlake.  Col.  Grant  was  school  agent  that 
year,  and  he  was  the  means  of  our  having  this  young  man, 
who  was  some  kind  of  a  connection  of  his,  to  keep  our 
winter  school. 

It  was  during  the  first  week  of  school,  and  I  s'pose  'twas 
really  as  much  to  get  the  young  folks  acquainted  with  the 
master  as  for  the  fun  of  the  affair  itself,  that  the  Colonel's 
folks  gave  a  big  candy  party,  invitin'  everybody  from  far 
and  near. 


BETSEY  :  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER* S   SECRET.  265 

The  ; -eight  grains  o'  Rice,"  as  brother  Jim  used  to  call 
'em,  from  Betsey  to  Rache  were  all  there,  the  boys  full  of 
their  fan  and  frolic  as  usual,  Betsey  grim  and  watchful, 
and  dear  little  Rache,  in  her  grey  dress  and  pale  pink  rib- 
bons, fresh  and  sweet  as  Mrs.  Grant's  pot  of  winter  roses, 
that  had  blossomed  out  just  in  time  for  the  party. 

I  liked  the  looks  of  Paul  Westlake  the  first  time  that  I 
set  my  eyes  on  him.  and  yet  he  wan't  what  would  be  called 
a  handsome  man  after  all.  His  hair  wan't  the  least  mite 
curly,  and  there  was  nothing  remarkable  about  his  feature-, 
taking  "em  one  at  a  time,  but  there  was  a  manliness,  an  in- 
dependent, determined  look  about  him,  that  would  have 
made  you  respect  and  trust  him  under  any  circumstances  ; 
and  when  he  spoke  his  whole  face  lighted  up.  and  he  looked 
so  bright  and  hopeful  that  you  couldn't  fancy  him  ever  un- 
happy or  cross  in  his  whole  life. 

He  was  pleasant  and  social  with  everybody,  but  I  noticed 
that  when  he  spoke  to  Rache  Rice  his  voice  was  a  trifle 
lower  and  softer  than  at  any  other  time,  and  once  when  a 
drop  of  the  boiling  molasses  fell  on  her  hand,  making  a 
tiny  blister  on  the  smooth  white  skin,  he  wet  his  own  hand- 
kerchief and  wrapped  it  round  it  as  tenderly  as  a  mother 
would  coddle  a  scratch  on  her  baby's  finger  ;  and  Rache  all 
the  time  blushing  and  laughing  at  him  for  his  pains,  and  de- 
claring that  the  smart  wasn't  worth  speaking  of,  although 
I  noticed  that  she  didn't  take  her  hand  away  or  refuse  to 
keep  the  handkerchief  on  until  it  should  stop  smarting. 

And  that  somebody  else  noticed  it  too,  I  knew,  when  I 
saw  Betsey's  little  black  eyes  peering  out  from  a  corner 
where  she'd  stationed  herself,  just  for  nothing  else  in  the 
world  but  to  watch  everybody  without  being  noticed  her- 
self. 

18 


266     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

I  knew,  as  quick  as  I  put  my  two  eyes  on  her,  that  she 
wasn't  over  'n  above  pleased,  for  her  mouth  was  drawn 
down  at  one  corner  and  her  nose  stuck  up  a  little  farther 
than  usual,  as  if  she  was  tryin'  to  smell  out  a  secret,  while 
her  fingers  twitched  and  worked  in  a  fidgety,  uncomfortable 
fashion,  whenever  the  master  touched  the  handkerchief  on 
Rache's  hand,  or  smiled  or  spoke  to  her  ;  and  when  the 
party  was  over  and  he  offered  to  see  them  home,  Betsey 
just  dropped  one  of  her  stiffest  curchys,  and  says  she,  in  a 
prim  little  voice,  and  taking  my  arm  as  she  spoke  : — 

"No,  thank  you,  sir,  I  have  company." 

He  bowed  politely,  but  I  don't  think  he  felt  very  bad  to 
have  Rache  all  to  himself,  and  as  they  walked  along  just  a 
little  ahead  of  us,  I  said,  just  to  see  if  I  could  find  out 
what  Betsey  was  up  to  : — 

"The  master  seems  to  be  a  fine  fellow." 

"Yes." 

But  her  voice  sounded  so  dry  and  disagreeable  that  I 
knew  she  didn't  mean  it,  and  the  next  minute  she  whis- 
pered, in  that  mysterious  tone  that  always  meant  mischief 
with  her  : — 

"How  is  this  young  man,  this  Westlake,  connected  with 
Col.  Grant's  family  ?" 

"Not  much  of  a  connection,"  I  said,  feeling  kind  of  un- 
easy as  I  always  did  when  she  was  pumping  me  about  any- 
thing, "Mrs.  Grant's  brother  married  his  aunt  who  adopted 
him  when  he  was  a  little  child." 

"That  was  before  they  moved  from  New v Hampshire,  I 
suppose?" 

"I  don't  know,"  and  I  wanted  to  say  "I  don't  care, 
either,"  but  I  was  always  a  little  afraid  of  Betsey's  sharp 
tongue,  so  I  kept    my    own    between    my    teeth,   for    once, 


BETSEY;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  267 

although  I  wondered  more  than  ever  what  kind  of  a  trail 
she'd  got  started  on  now. 

Rache  invited  me  to  stay  all  night  with  'em.  and  as  our 
house  was  over  on  the  East  Ridge  road — a  long  walk  in  a 
cold  night,  I  didn't  wait  for  much  coaxing,  but  just  made 
myself  at  home,  as  I'd  done  scores  of  times  before,  in  the 
great,  warm,  comfortable  kitchen  of  the  Rices,  where  one 
more  never  was  considered  a  "put  out"  on  any  occasion. 

The  boys  and  girls  came  stragglin'  home,  one  after 
another,  and  we  all  set  round  the  big  open  fire,  lauehinor 
and  joking,  and  talking  over  the  party  and  the  school-mas- 
ter especially. 

"J  think."  says  Sim  Rice,  in  his  hearty,  outspoken  way, 
'•that  he's  a  first  rater,  an'  no  mistake.  Why,  he's  jest  as 
free  an'  jolly  with  us  rough  country  boys  as  if  he'd  never 
seen  the  inside  of  a  college." 

Betsey  bridled  at  that. 

"I  don't  know  why  he  shouldn't  try  to  make  friends  with 
us.  A  young  man  that's  been  all  his  life  living  on  the 
charity  of  his  relations,  and  who  can't  even  get  through 
college  without  keeping  school  winters  to  help  pay  his  bills, 
needn't  look  down  on  us  who  have  never  been  indebted  to 
anybody  for  a  pin's  worth  so  far." 

Sim  laughed  uproariously. 

' 'That's  a  good  one — comin'  as  it  does  from  somebody 
that  I've  heard  say,  a  hundred  times,  when  the  unmarried 
ministers  happened  to  be  plenty  in  these  parts,  that  she 
4 didn't  consider  honest  poverty  any  disgrace.'  " 

A  significant  laugh  went  round  the  circle,  and  it  was  evi- 
dent that  Sim's  "hit"  on  his  eldest  sister  was  thoroughly 
appreciated  by  the  whole  family,  although  I  had  a  secret 
intuition  that  it  would  not  help  the  young  school-master  to  a 
better  place  in  her  good  graces  than  he  already  held. 


268     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

There  wasn't  so  much  fun  in  sitting  up,  after  that,  some- 
how, for  Betsey  made  out  to  get  every  one  of  us  to  feeling 
so  uncomfortable  that  we  were  glad  to  get  to  bed,  out  of 
the  sound  of  her  voice. 

In  the  first  place,  she  gave  poor  Sim  a  "dig"  by  asking 
him  if  he  found  old  Turner  drunk,  as  usual,  when  he  went 
home  with  Sally  from  the  party?  Then  she  told  Jack  that 
she  overheard  somebody  say  that  they  never  saw  him  act 
so  gawky  in  all  his  life  as  he  did  when  he  was  introduced 
to  Jane  Bruce's  city  cousin  ;  and  so  on,  till  every  one  of  the 
boys  got  to  looking  as  womblecropt  as  if  they'd  been  caught 
robbin'  a  hen  roost ;  and  after  they  was  all  off  ter  bed  she 
turned  on  me  an'  give  me  a  lecture  for  wearin'  my  hair 
curled  and  a  bow  of  blue  ribbon  to  fasten  my  collar. 

"And  you  a  church  member  /"  says  she.  She  brought 
out  the  words  with  such  a  tone  and  look  that  I  was  fairly 
cowed  and  couldn't  say  a  word  in  my  own  defence,  but 
Rache  spoke  up  in  her  soft,  pleasant  voice,  and  says  she  : — 

"Why,  Betsey,  her  hair  curls  natural,  you  know,  and 
I  guess  a  bow  of  blue  ribbon  won't  be  laid  up  as  a  sin 
against  her." 

She  was  lighting  a  candle  as  she  spoke,  and  as  she  lifted 
it  in  her  hand  a  crumpled  white  handkerchief  fell  from  her 
sleeve,  and  Betsey  pounced  upon  it  before  she  could  pick  it 
up,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light  while  she  read  the  name 
marked  in  the  corner  : — 

"Paul  Milton  Westlake." 

"It's  the  school-master's  handkerchief  that  he  lent  me 
when  I  burnt  my  hand,  and  I  forgot  to  give  it  back  to  him," 
and  Rache  held  out  her  hand  for  it,  while  her  cheeks  grew 
red  as  poppies,  and  there  was  a  flash  in  her  eyes  that  I 
never  saw  there  before,  as  Betsey,  pretendin'  not  to  notice 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  269 

her,  put  it  into  her  own  pocket,  sayin'  as  she   reached  out 
for  the  shovel  to  rake  up  the  fire  : — 

"I'll  wash  it  out  with  the  collars  an'  cuffs  that  I've  got  to 
do  up  to-morrow." 

Rache  didn't  say  a  word  then,  but  after  we  were  in  bed 
she  put  her  face  up  close  to  mine  and  whispered,  with  a  lit- 
tle tremble  in  her  voice  : — 

"What  do  you  suppose  Betsey  means  to  do  with  that 
handkerchief?" 

"Wash  an'  iron  it,"  says  I,  laughing,  and  Rache  nestled 
down  and  said  nothing  more,  until — -it  seemed  to  me  that 
I'd  been  asleep  for  hours — when  somebody  grabbed  my 
arm  and  shook  me  till  I  opened  my  eyes,  and  there  she 
was,  a  sittin'  up  in  bed,  lookin'  like  a  ghost  in  the  moon- 
light, and  when  I  tried  to  speak  she  hushed  me  with : — 

"Keep  still,  Dolly,  do!  There  s  somebody  up  in  the 
attic — just  listen,  now  !" 

I  did  listen,  and,  sure  enough,  I  could  hear  steps  on  the 
loose  boards  overhead,  and  then  something  clattered  to  the 
floor,  making  me  jump  almost  out  of  my  skin,  as  Rache 
whispered,  in  a  voice  faint  with  terror  : — 

"It's  the  reel,  it  hangs  at  the  farther  end  of  the  attic." 
Poor  child,  she  trembled  and  shook  like  a  leaf,  but  she 
managed  to  whisper  close  to  my  ear:   "I    wish  we  could 
wake  the  boys.      Cy.  and  Jack  sleep  in  the  next  room,  and 

if  I  only  dared  to  go  to  their  door" 

"And  get  laughed  at  for  being  a  coward,"  I  whispered 
back,  my  courage  rising  as  I  thought  how  unlikely  it  was 
that  any  burglar  should  trouble  himself  to  rummage  an  old 
lumber  room  like  that ;  very  likely  it  was  nobody  but  old 
"Bose,"  after  all,  and  in  spite  of  Rache's  tears  and  coax- 
ings, I  crept  out  of  bed  and  felt  my  way  in  the  dark,  up 
the  attic  stairs  to  the  door  at  the   top,    where  a   light  shone 


270      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

through  a  crack  wide  enough  for  me  to  peek  through,  and 
there  was — who  do  you  suppose  ?  why,  nobody  in  the  world 
but  Betsey  herself,  in  her  nightcap  and  slippers,  with  her 
mother's  great  blanket  shawl  wrapped  round  her,  a  lookin' 
over  some  files  of  old  newspapers,  "The  American  Far- 
mer," I  think  it  was,  and  they  must  have  been  dreadful 
old,  for  I  noticed  even  then  that  they  was  as  yellow  as  saf- 
fron, and  she  had  to  handle  them  just  as  careful  as  if  they'd 
been  so  much  tissue  paper. 

Her  eyes  twinkled  an'  blinked  as  she  run  'em  up  an' 
down  the  columns,  and  her  head  with  its  plain  '-calf's  head" 
nightcap  (she  was  a  strict  Methodist  and  didn't  believe  in 
ruffles)  went  bobbin'  up  and  down,  almost  into  the  very 
blaze  of  the  candle  that  she  held  in  one  hand,  while  her 
nose  looked  as  if  it  had  been  whittled  down  to  a  point  on 
purpose  for  this  very  occasion. 

I  thought,  at  first,  that  I'd  speak  to  her.  and  find  out 
what  she  was  up  to,  but  the  next  minute  I  thought  better  of 
it,  so  I  just  crept  back  to  Rache,  and  we  wondered  over  it 
a  little  while,  then  fell  asleep,  and  should,  perhaps,  have 
forgotten  it  altogether,  if,  the  next  morning,  Betsey's  red 
eyes  and  more  than  usually  uncertain  temper  had  not  re- 
minded us  of  what  we  were  too  shrewd  to  ask  any  ques- 
tions about. 

It  was  gay  times  with  us  that  winter,  for  it  seemed  as  if 
there  was  something  going  on  all  the  time.  Now,  it  was  a 
sleigh  ride  by  moonlight,  and  then  it  was  a  surprise  party  or 
a  "bee"  of  some  kind,  and  somehow  or  other  it  was  almost 
always  the  school-master  that  was  at  the  head  of  it.  He 
was  the  life  of  every  gathering  that  he  went  to,  the  one 
that  always  took  the  part  that  everybody  else  steered  clear 
of,  and  the  one  that  always  took  the  most  pains  to  make  the 
shy  and  neglected  ones,  that  you'll  find  in  every  company, 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  271 

enjoy  themselves  by  feeling  that  they  have  contributed  their 
share  to  the  general  good  time. 

And  yet,  for  all  his  love  of  fun  and  frolic,  everybody  agreed 
that  he  kept  the  best  school  that  we'd  had  in  that  district 
for  years,  and,  for  a  wonder,  nobody  found  any  fault  with 
him.  in  school  or  out,  for  he  had  that  free,  social  way  with 
him  that  everybody  likes,  even  if  they're  ever  so  grumpy 
themselves. 

The  Rices  and  he  were  "hand  and  glove,"  and  he  spent 
two-thirds  of  his  time,  out  of  school,  at  their  house,  listen- 
ing to  the  old  man's  war  stories,  holding  the  old  lady's  yarn. 
joking  with  and  telling  stories  to  the  "boys,"  compliment- 
ing Betsey's  housekeeping,  and  watching  Rache  as  she 
tripped  round  about  her  work,  with  a  love  light  in  his  eyes, 
that  told  its  own  story  better  than  even  a  school-master's 
tongue  could  possibly  have  told  it. 

That  he  was  a  favorite  with  the  family  anybody  could 
see.  but  Betsey's  way  toward  him  puzzled  me  from  the 
very  first.  She  treated  him  well  enough,  but  whenever  she 
could  get  a  chance  she  would  ask  him  the  queerest  ques- 
tions, and  all  the  time  with  that  su-picious  air  that  showed 
there  was  something  underneath  the  surface — what,  nobody 
could  guess. 

One  evening  we  were  all  sitting  round  the  fire,  eating 
apples  and  butternuts,  and  father  Rice  had  been  telling 
one  of  his  long-winded  yarns  about  his  father's  doings  in 
the  War  for  Independence,  when  Betsey  gave  a  sidelong 
look  at  the  master  who  was  busy  peelin'  a  rosy  cheeked 
apple  for  Rache,  and  says  she,  in  that  sort  of  a  tone  that 
always  makes  you  feel  uncomfortable,  you  don't  know  why  : 

••Seems  to  me  I  never  heard  you  say  much  about  your 
family,  Mr.  Westlake.  You  know  who  they  were,  I  sup- 
pose?" 


272     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Of  course,  but  I  don't  really  know  much  about  them, 
for  my  mother  died  when  I  was  an  infant,  and  my  father 
soon  after,  at  which  time  I  was  adopted  by  Mrs.  Westlake, 
my  mother's  sister,  and  her  husband,  and  I  have  never 
known  any  difference  between  them  and  own  parents." 

He  spoke  without  the  least  hesitation,  but  I  thought  he 
looked  a  little  surprised  when  Betsey  asked, 

"Your  own  father's  name  was  Milton,  I  believe?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  his  given  name?" 

The  boys  and  Westlake  himself  laughed  outright  at  that, 
for  it  was  a  standing  joke  among  'em,  Betsey's  taste  for 
huntin'  up  relations,  and*  Jack,  giving  the  others  a  sly  wink, 
answered  her  with  some  kind  of  nonsense  about  "relations 
by  marriage"  that  stopped  her  mouth  for  the  time,  but 
didn't  hinder  her  thinking  about  it  all  the  more. 

Well,  the  winter  slipped  away,  and  school  was  done,  and 
the  master  ready  to  go  back  to  his  own  lessons  ;  but  before 
he  went  he  had  a  long  talk  with  father  Rice  that  must  a' 
been  pretty  satisfactory,  for  it  soon  came  to  be  known  all 
over  town  that  he  and  Rache  were  "promised,"  aDd  would 
be  married  as  soon  as  he'd  finished  his  studies  and  settled 
down  to  his  callin'  as  a  doctor. 

"It  may  be  a  couple  of  years  first,"  said  Rache,  when 
she  was  telling  me  about  it,  "but  we  are  young  and  can 
afford  to  wait.  Besides,"  and  her  sweet  face  grew  rosier 
as  she  half  whispered  the  words,  "I  shall  have  time  to 
learn  all  about  housekeeping,  so  that  I  can  make  his  home 
always  pleasant  and  comfortable  for  him." 

She  looked  so  bright  an'  happy  that  for  a  minute  I 
actually  trembled  at  the  thought  of  any  possible  disappoint- 
ment in    her    glad    future,    and    the  next  I  blamed  myself 


BETSEY  :   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  273 

for  a  silly  old   croaker,    that    could    imagine   clouds   where 
everybody  else  saw  only  sunshine. 

Perhaps  Betsey  was  acting  as  my  barometer,  for  the  sight 
of  her  dissatisfied,  suspicious  face  always  had  been  a  sure 
indication  of  a  storm  ahead,  and  I  knew  that  it  wouldn't  be 
by  any  good  will  of  hers  that  the  young  folks'  love  barque 
sailed  safe  into  harbor  at  last. 

Every  spare  minute  that  she  could  get,  all  through  the 
spring  and  summer,  Rache  was  busy  as  a  bee,  piecin'  to- 
gether patchwork  of  every  kind  of  a  pattern — ''orange 
peel."  '"log-cabin,"  i4fox  and  geese,"  and  one  "rising  sun." 
that  was  a  perfect  beauty,  only  just  two  colors  in  the  whole 
quilt.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  made  an  errand  over  there 
pretty  often  just  for  the  fun  of  looking  over  the  pieces,  and 
talking  as  girls  will  when  there's  a  wedding  in  prospect, 
about  beaux  and  husbands,  and  the  best  way  of  manao-in? 
them  under  all  circumstances.  Betsey  was  authority  on 
this  as  on  every  other  point. 

"If  a  man  had  enough  respect  and  esteem  (Betsey  never 
said  'love'  in  her  life.)  for  me  to  want  to  marrv  me,  I 
should  take  it  for  granted  that  he  was  satisfied  with  me  just 
as  I  was  :  and  as  for  shiftin7  and  changin'  my  wavs  and 
ideas  to  please  him.  I  just  shouldn't  do  it.  Whoever  mar- 
ries Betsey  Rice  will  have  Betsey  Rice  to  live  with  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter." 

Rache  always  seemed  kind  of  puzzled  at  her  sister's  talk, 
and  sometimes  she  would  spunk  up  a  little  and  undertake 
to  show  how,  seeing  we're  all  imperfect  creatures,  even  the 
best  of  us,  that  it  might  be  no  more  than  right  sometimes 
to  change  some  of  our  ways  for  the  sake  of  keeping  peace 
and  harmony  in  our  homes  and  families  ;  but  this  sort  of 
talk  alwavs  made  Betsev  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen. 


274     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

u  You'll  ho,  a  perfect  slave  to  the  man  you  marry,"  she 
snapped  out,  one  day,  when  Rache  had  been  getting  her 
mouth  open  a  little  wider  than  usual  on  the  subject.  "Now, 
my  opinion  is  that  the  surest  way  to  make  a  poor  husband 
is  to  act  as  if  you  thought  him  perfection.  Most  men  are 
the  better  for  being  snubbed  now  and  then,  and  /say  it's  a 
wife's  duty  to  do  it." 

When  Betsey  hit  a  truth,  she  always  hit  it  fairly  and 
squarely  on  the  head,  leaving  no  place  for  a  dispute  ;  so 
Rache  and  I,  after  exchanging  a  sly  glance  that  spoke  vol- 
umes, wisely  concluded  to  let  the  subject  rest  for  the  pres- 
ent. 

That  was  a  happy  surflmer,  but  it  slipped  away  almost 
before  we  knew  it,  and  the  farmers  began  to  hurry  up  their 
late  harvestings  and  talk  about  "signs  of  frost,"  the  boys 
came  in  from  their  morning's  milking  with  red  noses  and 
cold  fingers,  and  the  children  spent  their  Saturday  after- 
noons out  among  the  ''Beeches''  hunting  for  the  fallen  nuts. 
Everything  showed  that  the  cold  weather  was  close  at  hand 
once  more. 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  in  October  that  I  was  taking 
tea  at  the  Rices,  and  Betsey  came  in  just  as  we  were  sit- 
ting down  to  supper  with  a  face  full  of  importance,  and  as 
soon  as  she'd  got  her  things  off  she  turned  to  Rache  and 
says  she  : — 

••The  Quarterly  Meeting  is  to  be  held  at  Goshen  next 
week,  and  Mrs.  Westlake  has  written  to  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Col.  Grant,  to  invite  us  to  come  to  the  meeting  and  stop 
with  her.  She  wants  to  get  acquainted  with  you,  espec- 
ially." 

Poor  Rache  blushed  scarlet  and  her  father  didn't  mend 
the  matter  much  by  asking  if  Paul  would  be  at  home. 


275 


•'Oh,  no,"  and  in  her  flurry  Rache  poured  the  contents 
of  the  milk  pitcher  into  her  father's  plate  instead  of  his  tea- 
cup.     "His  vacation  isn't  for  some  weeks  yet." 

Betsey  had  on  her  primmest  look  all  at  once. 

"It  won't  make  any  special  difference,  I  guess,  whether 
he's  there  or  not.  Mrs.  Westlake  won't  need  his  help  to 
entertain  her  company." 

Rache's  lip  quivered,  and  the  grieved  look  that  always 
came  into  her  eyes  when  Betsey  spoke  in  that  hateful  way 
of  Paul  Westlake,  was  there  when  we  got  up  from  the  table, 
and  she  slipped  her  little  soft  hand  into  mine,  while  she 
whispered  in  my  ear  : — 

•'Come  out  in  the  garden  with  me,  I  want  to  tell  you 
something." 

But  we  were  scarcely  out  of  the  kitchen  before  Betsey 
called  after  us. 

••Where  are  you  going,  girls?  Such  a  cold  night  as  this  ; 
and  you,  Rache,  without  even  a  handkerchief  over  your 
head !  I  do  believe  you  want  to  get  sick." 

••I'm  only  going  out  to  turn  those  table-cloths  on  the 
grass,"  and  as  she  spoke  Rache  took  down  a  heavy  shawl 
from  the  nail  behind  the  entry  door  and  pinned  it  over  her 
bare  head  and  shoulders. 

'•There.  I'm  all  right  now.  Come,  Dolly,"  and  as  I 
latched  the  door  behind  us,  I  heard  Betsey  say,  in  an  irri- 
table tone  : — 

"It  is  strange  that  Rache  won't  take  better  care  of  her- 
self, when  she  knows  how  weak  her  lungs  are,  and  how  a 
cough  always  hangs  on  writh  her." 

We  walked  together  down  the  walk  to  the  lower  part  of 
the  garden  where  Rache's  new  linen  was  bleaching  on  the 
grass.  The  moon  was  at  its  full,  so  it  was  almost  as  light 
as  day,  and  I    stood   still   and    watched    Rache   while   she 


276     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

turned  the  table-cloths  and  towels  that  she  had  helped  to 
spin  and  weave  with  her  own  hands,  smoothing  'em  and 
patting  out  every  wrinkle  with  a  pretty  little  fussy  air  that 
was  about  as  good  an  imitation  of  her  thrifty  sister  as  the 
dear  girl  could  get  up,  and  when  she  had  finished,  she  came 
up  to  me  and  put  her  arm  about  my  waist,  girl  fashion, 
laughing  a  proud,  happy  little  laugh,  while  she  said,  in  the 
soft,  shy  tone  that  she  always  used  nowadays  when  speak- 
ing of  anything  connected  with  her  future  : — 

"These  frosty  nights  will  whiten  my  table  linen  beauti- 
fully, and  even  if  it  isn't  as  white  as  I'd  like  to  have  it  I 
shan't  fret  myself  to  death  about  it, — I'm  too  happy  over 
Paul's  good  luck  to  fret  about  anything  just  now." 

"Paul's  good  luck?"  I  asked  curiously. 

"Yes,  there  is  a  rich  college  friend  of  his  who  is  going  to 
Europe  to  study  in  the  hospitals  there,  and  he  has  offered 
to  pay  Paul's  expenses  if  he  will  <jo  with  him.  He  says  it 
will  be  worth  more  to  him  than  years  of  ordinary  practice 
here  at  home,  so  I  wrote  him  that  he  had  better  go." 

"Sho!" 

Paul  Westlake  going  to  Europe,  and  Rache  consenting 
it !  Why,  I  never  was  so  dumfounded  in  my  life,  for  you 
see  that  was  before  the  days  of  ocean  steamers,  and  we 
looked  upon  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  then,  as  some- 
thing almost  as  risky  as  Stanley's  hunt  for  Dr.  Living- 
stone is  considered  now.  And  then  to  practice  in  those 
horrible  places  that  our  seafaring  friends  told  such  dread- 
ful stories  about,  exposed  to  diseases  the  very  names  of 
which  made  one  sick  with  loathing  and  terror,  and  the  daily 
companion  of  those  hardened  men  who  cut  off  a  man's  leg 
with  just  as  much  indifference  as  a  butcher  quarters  a 
sheep — oh,  it  was  dreadful !  And  to  think  of  Rache,  timid, 
loving  little  Rache,  risking  the  life  that  was  so  dear  to  her, 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  277 

for  what  might  be  but   an   imaginary   benefit   after  all.       I 
couldn't  understand  it  and  I  said  so. 

"Rache,"  says  I,  ''Europe  is  a  long  ways  off,  and  there's 
a  good  deal  of  risk  to  be  run  in  getting  there.  And  then, 
have  vou  thought  of  the  chance  of  his  catching  some  of 
those  dreadful  diseases  that  he'll  have  to  expose  himself  to, 
and  dying  away  from — " 

I  didn't  have  the  chance  to  finish  what  I  was  going  to 
say,  for  Rache  gripped  my  arm  so  hard  that  I  fairly 
screamed  with  pain,  and  says  she,  in  a  hoarse,  half-frozen 
voice,  while  her  teeth  chattered  and  she  shivered  all  over  :  — 

"Don't  say  that,  Dolly  !  I  have  thought  it  all  over  and 
made  up  my  mind  that,  if  it  is  best  for  him  to  go,  I — can 
bear  it." 

I  couldn't  say  a  word  to  that.  I  just  put  my  arms  round 
her  and  kissed  her  white  face,  while  the  tears  that  I  couldn't 
keep  back  fell  on  her  soft,  brown  hair,  that  looked,  under 
the  shadow  of  the  bright  plaid,  like  a  furrow  in  a  clover 
field — brown  below,  bright  above — and  then  we  w^ent  quietly 
back  to  the  house  and  sat  and  listened  to  the  girls'  chatter, 
the  boys'  jokes,  and  Betsey's  suggestions  and  comments  the 
whole  evening  long,  while  Rache  seemed  just  the  same  as 
usual,  quiet,  but  cheerful  and  busy,  until  I  began  to  wonder, 
in  my  foolish,  girl  fashion,  if  she  could  really  love  Paul 
Westlake  so  very  much,  after  all,  when  she  could  not  only 
consent  to  his  going  into  the  midst  of  such  dangers,  but 
could'  be  so  calm  and  cool  about  it  besides. 

I  didn't  realize  that  the  dear  girl  had  gone  so  far  beyond 
me  in  her  lesson  of  womanly  self-forgetfulness  that  I  couldn't 
even  understand  what  she  had  not  only  learned,  but  was 
even  now  putting  in  practice. 

The  subject  of  Mrs.  Westlake's  invitation  was  brought 
up,  and  the  family,  one  and   all,   broke  into  a  perfect  hail- 


278   RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

storm  of  wonderments  when  Rache  refused,  right  up  and 
down,  to  go  ;  Betsey  had  best  accept  the  invitation,  but  she 
would  rather  stay  at  home. 

"Don't  be  scared,  Rache,"  laughed  Jack,  "I'll  risk  you 
to  hold  up  your  head  with  the  best  of  'em.  I  wouldn't  be 
afraid  to  match  you  with  the  best  looking  girl  that  G-oshen 
can  scare  up." 

Rache  smiled,  but  shook  her  head  decidedly,  while  Polly 
joked  her  about  "attentions  to  husband's  relations,"  and 
her  mother  added  in  her  mild  way  :  — 

"Hadn't  you  better  go,  dear?  Maybe  they'll  feel  hurt  if 
you  don't." 

"No,  they  won't,"  and  Rache's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as 
she  looked  into  her  mother's  face.  "They  will  understand 
why  I  don't  feel  like  visiting  even  Paul's  relations,  when  I 
must  say  good-bye  to  him  so  soon." 

"What  in  creation  do  you  mean?" 

Betsey's  tongue  had  got  the  start  of  the  others  as  usual, 
and  she  stood  glowering  at  the  poor  girl  as,  in  a  few,  has- 
tily spoken  words,  she  gave  the  explanation  that  I  had 
already  listened  to  in  the  garden. 

"It'll  be  a  grand  thing  for  'im  !"  was  father  Rice's  quiet 
comment,  while  the  others,  getting  excited  over  such  unex- 
pected news,  tormented  poor  Rache  with  their  questions 
and  suggestions,  never  noticing  the  growing  paleness  of  her 
Cheek  and  the  faintness  of  her  voice,  till  Betsey,  who 
Strangely  enough,  hadn't  spoken  a  word  since  her  first  sur- 
prised exclamation,  motioned  to  me  to  take  a  candle  from 
the  table,  and  with  a — 

"Come,  Rache,  it's  time  we  were  abed,"  led  the  way  to 
her  own  room,  shutting  the  door  hard  behind  her,  as  a  hy- 
sterical sob  broke  the  poor  girl's   pale  lips,  and  then  wrap- 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S   SECRET.  279 

ping  a  shawl  about  her.  she  put  her  into  a  chair  and  ordered 
her  to  4*cry  her  cry  out." 

Two  or  three  times  I  tried  to  interfere  and  make  an  ef- 
fort to  stay  the  flood  of  tears  and  sobs  that  shook  the  slen- 
der frame  as  I've  seen  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain  twist  and 
wring  a  lily  that  it  was  trying  its  best  to  uproot,  but  Betsey 
shook  her  head  at  me  and  I  didn't  dare  to  say  a  word. 

••She'll  feel  all  the  better  for  it,"  she  whispered,  as  the 
violence  of  the  storm  began  to  subside. 

"She  ain't  one  of  the  kind  that  can  keep  her  trouble  to 
herself;  it  would  just  kill  her  in  a  little  while." 

Here  Rache  looked  up  with  a  pitiful  attempt  at  a 
smile  : — 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  think  I'm  nothing  but  a  weak,  silly 
baby,"  she  said,  stifling  a  sob  as  she  spoke,  and  looking  at 
Betsey  instead  of  me  ;  "But  I  won't  give  way  to  my  feel- 
ings like  that  again.  I  am  sorry  that  I  was  so  weak  and 
foolish." 

••So  am  I.  Rache,  and  I  hope  you'll  remember  your 
promise,  for  I  should  be  dreadfully  mortifled  to  have  the 
rest  of  the  family  see  you  taking  on  so.  just  because  Paul 
TVestlake  chooses  to  go  galivantin'  off  to  foreign  lands 
rather  than  stay  at  home  and  marry  the  woman  that  he 
professes  to  care  so  much  for." 

Rache's  soft  cheek  wore  an  indignant  flush,  but,  after 
her  usual  habit,  she  made  no  reply  to  her  sister's  harsh  in- 
nuendo, only  urging  me.  in  her  gentle  fashion,  to  take  her 
place  and  accompany  Betsey  to  the  quarterly  meeting  in 
her  stead.  I  didn't  like  to  seem  to  crowd  myself  into  a 
place  meant  for  another,  but  there  was  so  much  said  that  I 
couldn't  seem  to  refuse,  so  I  agreed  to  go  with  the  under- 
standing that  I  was  going  to  the  meeting,  not  to  visit  Mrs. 
Westlake,  unless  by  a  special  invitation  from  her. 


280    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Of  course,"  and  Betsey  added,  as  she  took  off  her 
black  silk  apron  and  carefully  folded  it  before  laying  it 
away  in  her  bureau  drawer  : — 

"There  is  provision  made  for  the  accommodation  of  folks 
from  out  of  town,  but,  really,  I  don't  believe  that  Mrs. 
Westlake  will  let  you  go  anywhere  else." 


It  was  a  pretty  long  day's  ride  to  Goshen,  any  way,  and 
father  Rice's  old  "Peggy"  was  the  slowest  of  all  slow  beasts  ; 
so  it  wasn't  far  from  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  we 
drove  up  to  Mr.  Westlake's  door,  and  Betsey  called  out  her 
last  "whoa  !"  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction  that  I  could  heartily 
sympathize  with,  for  I  was  chilly  and  tired,  and  the  lighted 
windows  and  sound  of  voices  within  gave  promise  of  that 
rest  and  comfort  that  I  was  just  uncomfortable  enough  to 
appreciate. 

They  must  have  been  looking  for  us,  for  the  horse's 
hoofs  had  scarcely  sounded  on  the  drive  inside  of  the  gate 
before  the  door  flew  open  and  a  woman's  face  looked  eager- 
ly out,  while  a  pleasant,  cheery  voice  greeted  us  with  : — 

"Good  evening!  Is  that  you,  Miss  Rice?"  and  a  trim 
little  figure  bustled  out  and  reached  up  a  welcoming  hand 
before  we  were  fairly  within  the  reach  of  it. 

"Good  evenin',  ma'am  !  Cool,  this  evenin'."  And  Betsey 
climbed  out  of  the  wagon  and  gave  her  skirts  a  shake  and 
her  bonnet  a  ''settler"  before  she  introduced  me,  although 
our  hostess  had  already  helped  me  down  and  was  holding 
my  hand  in  hers  while  she  looked  earnestly  into  my  veiled 
and  muffled  face  with  a  smile  that  faded  at  sound  of  Betsey's 
formal  introduction  : — 

"Mis'  Westlake,  shall  I  make  you  acquainted  with  Miss 
Dutton,  a  friend  and  neighbor  of  ours,  that  was  kind  enough 
to  take  the  place  of  my  sister,  who  concluded  not  to  come." 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER's  SECRET.  281 

The  lady  dropped  my  hand,  and  although  she  made  me 
welcome  in  such  a  frank,  kindly  fashion,  that  I  could  not 
feel  that  my  visit  was  an  intrusion,  I  could  see  that  she 
was  sadly  disappointed  at  Rache's  failure  to  accept  of  her 
invitation. 

"I  thought  that  it  was  she,  you  are  so  nearly  the  same 
size,"  she  said,  "but  come  right  in,  do — you  are  both  shiv- 
ering with  the  cold.  Our  evenings  are  getting  decidedly 
•fallish,"'  and  she  led  the  way  into  a  warm,  cheerfully 
lighted  sitting  room,  where  she  helped  us  off  with  our 
wrappings,  chatting  all  the  time  in  a  pleasant,  easy  way 
that  made  us  feel  at  home  to  start  with. 

"Your  lire  feels  good,"  remarked  Betsey,  as  she  put  her 
feet  out  towards  the  cheerful  blaze,  then  mindful  of  more 
important  matters,  she  asked  staidly  : — 

"Do  you  expect  many  from  out  o'  town  to  this  quarterly 
meeting?  It's  a  good  time  o'  year  for  most  folks  to  leave 
home,  and  you  ought  to  have  a  good,  full  meeting." 

"True  —  and  my  husband  says,"  here  the  grey  eyes 
twinkled  merrily  as  they  rested  on  Betsey's  carefully  ironed 
"Methodist  collar,"  "that  as  there  are  an  unusual  number 
of  unmarried  ministers  among  us  this  year,  the  sisterly 
element  will  be  likely  to  predominate  in  our  meetings." 

Betsey  drew  down  her  mouth  and  drew  up  the  skirt  of  her 
dress  at  the  same  moment. 

"I  see  Miss  Betsey  knows  how  to  guard  against  the 
sparks"  and  Mrs.  TVestlake  gave  me  a  roguish  glance  that 
was  entirely  lost  upon  the  object  of  the  jest,  who  replied  in 
her  most  matter-of-fact  tones  : — 

"Beech  wood  is  dreadful  snappy  stuff.      I  remember  once 

my  sister  Rache  just  about  ruined  a  bran  new  dress  that  she 

hadn't  had  on  more'n  twice,  by  setting  in  front  of  a  beech 
19 


282     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

wood  fire.      The  front  breadth  was  burnt  in  half  a  dozen 
places." 

Mrs.  Westlake  smiled.  I  could  see  that  the  sound  of 
Rache's  name  was  pleasant  to  her,  and  when,  later  in  the 
evening,  Betsey  happened  to  mention  her  again,  she  said 
regretfully  : — 

"I  am  so  sorry  that  she  could  not  come  !  I  had  antici- 
pated so  much  pleasure  in  a  visit  from  her." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  say  that  she  could?i,t  come,  (Betsey 
prided  herself  on  her  exactness)  "but  that  she  didn't/*^/ 
like  coming  just  now." 

Mrs.  Westlake's  sunny  face  grew  grave  in  a  moment. 
It  was  p4tiin  to  be  seen  that  she  understood  the  hint. 

"It  will  be  a  great  trial  to  us  all,"  she  said,  her  lip 
quivering  as  she  spoke,  "and  we — his  father  and  I — shall 
feel  the  separation  all  the  more  keenly,  for  until  he  entered 
college  he  was  never  away  from  home  more  than  a  week 
at  a  time,  and  seldom  that." 

Betsey  pricked  up  her  ears  and  looked  knowing : 

"That  is,  since  he  was  under  your  care  !"' 

Mrs.  Westlake  colored  a  little,  but  she  answered 
pleasantly  : — 

"He  has  been  ours  since  he  was  six  months  old before 

that  I  never  saw  him." 

"Then  you  didn't  live  near  your  sister." 

Betsey  was  knitting  away  with  all  her  might,  which  was 
the  reason,  perhaps,  that  her  arm  had  that  queer  up  and 
down  motion  that  always  made  me  think  of  a  pump  handle, 
for  I'd  seen  it  go  just  so  before  when  she  was  trying  to  find 
out  Bomethiug — elbow  and  tongue  always  went  together 
then. 

Mrs.  Westlake  seemed  a  little  surprised  at  the  question, 
and  I  fancied  she  spoke  rather  stiffly  when  she  said  : — 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET, 


283 


"No.     Our  houses  were  some  distance  apart,  and  at  that 
time  of  the  year— Paul  was  born  in   the   fall— it   was   diffi- 
cult travelling  in  such  a  mountainous  region." 
"As  New  Hampshire?" 
"Yes." 

Betsey  stopped  to  take  up  a  dropped  stitch,  and  Mrs. 
Westlake  began  to  talk  about  something  else,  a  little  ner- 
vously I  fancied,  as  if  she  was  anxious  to  change  the  con- 
versation, and  just  as  she  was  in  the  midst  of  a  description 
of  a  terrible  thunder  storm  that  had  almost  ruined  their 
wheat  crop  the  year  before,  a  thin,  sharp  voice  called  out 
from  the  room  beyond  : — 

"Huldy  !  Huldy  !     Come  here,  this  very  minute  !" 
Mrs.  Westlake  started   to   her   feet   in   a   moment,    only 
stopping  long  enough  to  whisper  the  explanation  :— 

"It's  my  mother.  She  is  very  old  and  feeble  both  in 
body  and  mind,  and  I  never  leave  her  alone  any  length  of 
time,  so  you  must  excuse  me  for  the  present." 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply  she  hurried  into  the  next 
room  from  which  we  could  now  hear  a  piteous,  wailing 
sound,  and  the  fretfully  spoken  words  :— 

"What  did  you  stay  away  from  me  for,  so  long?  you 
wicked,  ungrateful  child  !  " 

I  suppose  that  her  daughter  explained  that  she  had 
visitors,  for  we  could  hear  her  voice  in  a  low,  soothing 
undertone,  but  the  old  lady  was  not  to  be  pacified. 

« 'What  of  that  ?       Pm  your  own  mother  and  you  haven't 
any  business  to  leave  me  alone  for  other  folks  even  if  I 
did  drop  to  sleep  for  a  minute." 
Then  after  a  moment's  silence  :  — 

"Bring  'em  in  and  let  me  see  'em.  I  guess  I'm  good 
enough  company  for  them  or  anybody  else.  You  needn't 
think,  Huldy  Binks,  just  because  you   live   in  a  fine  house 


284      RE -TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

an'  dress  in  your  silks  an'  satins,  that  you're  a  bit  better 
than  your  mother  was  before  ye." 

"The  old  cross-patch !"  I  whispered  indignantly,  but 
Betsey  shook  her  head  reprovingly. 

"She's  childish,  poor  soul !"  (Betsey  always  had  charity 
for  sharp  tongued  folks  so  long  as  they  didn't  interfere 
with  her)  and  just  then  Mrs.  Westlake  came  out  to  invite 
us  into  her  mother's  room,  and  as  I  noticed  the  saddened, 
subdued  look  upon  her  face,  I  knew  that  the  burden  of  life 
was,  even  to  her  cheerful,  buoyant  nature,  no  light  one. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  airy  room,  furnished  with  an  eye  to 
beauty  as  well  as  comfort,  for  there  were  pictures  on  the 
wall — old-fashioned,  queer  looking  faces  to  be  sure,  but 
daintily  framed  and  ornamented  with  sprays  of  red-berried 
asparagus  or  gorgeous-eyed  peacock's  feathers  ;  with  roses 
and  chrysanthemums  in  the  window  seat,  and  a  pretty  hang- 
ing pot  of  Iceland  moss  and  wild  creepers  hanging  from  the 
ceiling  just  in  range  of  the  eye  of  the  old  lady,  who  lay  in 
her  bed,  propped  up  by  pillows,  her  little,  sharp,  restless 
eves  peering  out  from  a  face  so  wrinkled  that  it  looked  as 
if  the  skin  had  heen  crimped  with  a  penknife  to  match  the 
snowy  cap-border  and  ruffles  at  her  neck  and  wrists.  I 
suppose  she  tried  to  smile  when  she  saw  us,  but  it  didn't 
amount  to  anything  more  than  a  change  of  puckers  about 
the  mouth,  and  when  Mrs.Westlake  introduced  us,  and  she 
put  her  little,  clam-like  hand  into  mine  I  couldn't  help  a 
kind  of  "crawly"  feeling  all  over  me,  she  seemed  so  much 
like  one  of  those  "uncanny  creatures"  that  my  old  Scotch 
grandmother  used  to  tell  me  stories  about  when  I  was  a 
child  ;  while  her  voice,  in  her  efforts  to  modulate  it  to  a 
compa?iy  key,  was  about  as  pleasant  to  the  ear  as  a  coffee 
mill  that's  out  of  fix. 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  285 

"Hope  I  see  you  well,  ladies,"  and  she  bobbed  her  white 
capped  head  with  an  air  intended  to  be  very  gracious.  "You 
see,"  she  went  on,  "that  I'm  so  confined  that  I  can't  wait 
on  you  myself,  but  I  do  hope  that  my  daughter  Huldy 
here  makes  out  to  make  you  comfortable." 

Of  course  we  both  expressed  our  entire  satisfaction,  and 
Betsey  drawing  a  chair  close  to  the  bedside,  began  to  ques- 
tion the  old  lady  about  her  infirmities,  listening  with  a 
show  of  the  deepest  interest  to  a  list  of  her  ailments,  and 
suggesting,  now  and  then,  some  remedy  that  "would  be 
sure  to  help  if  it  didn't  cure"  her. 

"Balm  of  Gilead  buds  steeped  in  rum  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  your  cough,"  she  said,  but  the  old  lady  shook  her 
head  dejectedly  : — 

'"It  ain't  no  kind  o'  use  to  talk  about  what  would  do  me 
good,"  she  sighed.  "Nobody  thinks  it  worth  while  to  put 
themselves  out  to  do  for  me.  now  Chirky's  gone,  poor, 
dear,  mur" — 

"Mother!  Mother!  do  stop!"  and  Mrs.  Westlake's 
face  wore  a  startled,  anxious  look  that  was  really  pitiful. 
"You  know,"  she  went  on,  in  a  soothing  tone,  and  smooth- 
ing back  a  few  straggling  white  hairs  that  had  crept  over 
the  wrinkled  forehead,  "you  know,  mother,  that  there  is 
nothing  that  we  wouldn't  do  to  make  you  comfortable  and 
happy." 

The  old  woman  looked  up  into  her  daughter's  face,  and 
seeing  the  tears  in  her  eyes  her  mood  changed,  and  reaching 
out  her  shrivelled  arms  she  drew  her  down  to  her,  and 
softly  patting  her  cheek  she  said  in  a  soft,  cooing  tone,  such 
as  one  would  use  in  talking  to  a  baby  : — 

"Poor  little  girl !  Was  mother  cross  to  her?  Oh,  well, 
well !  I  didn't  mean  it,  after  all,  for  you're  a  good  child, 
Huldy — a  good  child  if  /  do  say  it,  and" — 


286     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Here  the  words  grew  indistinct,  sinking  at  last  into  a  low 
murmur,  and  in  a  few  minutes  her  daughter  laid  her  gently 
back  upon  the  pillows  sound  asleep. 

Mrs.  Westlake  stood  for  a  moment  silently  looking 
down  upon  the  now  quiet,  placid  face,  then  lightly  touching 
her  lips  to  the  faded  cheek  she  left  the  room  on  tiptoe  and 
we  as  quietly  followed.  I,  for  one,  was  thankful  to  find 
myself  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  this  unlovely,  but  pitiful 
specimen  of  second  childhood,  of  whom  our  hostess  re- 
marked, in  her  gentle,  womanly  way.  when  we  were  again 
comfortably  seated  in  the  cheery  sitting  room  : — 

'•My  poor  mother  has  never  been  quite  herself  since  my 
sister's  death,  and  each  year  she  has  grown  weaker  in  mind 
and  body.  She  has  only  walked  from  her  bed  to  the  easy 
chair  by  the  window  once  a  day  for  seven  years,  and  some- 
times, for  weeks  at  a  time,  she  has  been  unable  to  make 
even  that  exertion.  She  is  very  much  attached  to  my  hus- 
band, and  when  he  is  away  from  home  she  is  always  par- 
ticularly irritable  and  nervous.  She  seems,  somehow,  to 
feel  herself  in  constant  need  of  a  protector,  and  she  evidently 
looks  upon  him  in  that  light.  He  has  been  away  now 
almost  a  week,  and  I  am  expecting  him  every  day.  No- 
body knows  how  thankful  I  shall  be  when  he  comes,  for 
she  has  been  worse  than  usual  this  time." 

•-She  seems  to  look  upon  you  as  a  child,"  I  said. 
4iYes,  that    is    one  of  her    fancies.      She    don't    seem  to 
realize  that  I  am  a  grown   up    woman,   and  in  speaking    of 
Paul's  mother  she  always  calls  her  by  the  pet  name  of  her 
childhood." 

"■Does  she  know  who  Paul  is?" 

The  question  was  natural  enough  under  the  circum- 
stances, but  there  was  an  uncomfortable  significance  in  Bet- 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  287 

sey's  tone  that  made  Mrs.  Westlake  color  and  look  a  little 
embarrassed  as  she  said  hesitatingly  :  — 

"Yes,  I  think  she  does,  generally.  But  I  have  thought 
lately  that  she  confounds  him  with  his  father,  whose  name 
he  bears,  and  whom  he  very  much  resembles  in  looks  as  he 
grows  older." 

Betsey  coughed,  one  of  those  dry,  disagreeable  coughs 
that  certain  people  always  send  ahead  to  clear  the  way  for 
a  still  more  disagreeable  speech,  and  says  she  : — 

"Does  she  think  any  the  less  of  him  for  that?" 

Mrs.  Westlake  was  as  true  a  lady  as  ever  lived,  but  for 
a  moment  I  think  that  she  forgot  that  Betsey  Rice  was  her 
guest,  seeing  in  her  only  a  prying,  inquisitive  woman, 
whose  curiosity  had  carried  her  to  the  very  borders  of  im- 
pudence, and  says  she,  with  a  chill  dignity  that  ten  min- 
utes before  I  wouldn't  have  believed  her  capable  of:  — 

"My  mother's  private  likes  and  dislikes  are  not  a  pleas- 
ant or  suitable  subject  for  discussion  between  us,  and  we 
will  drop  it,  if  you  please,  once  for  all.  Is  Mr.  Bird  as 
popular  with  the  church  in  your  place  as  your  last  minis- 
ter, Mr.  Glasse,  was?" 

Betsey  turned  the  seam  in  her  stocking  with  a  jerk  that 
made  the  needles  rattle,  but  she  answered  coldly  enough  : — 

"Yes,  he's  liked  quite  as  well,  if  not  better,  I  think.  Mr. 
Glasse  was  a  good  man,  so  everybody  said — but  he  wasn't 
no  great  of  a  sermonizer,  and  folks  grumbled  a  good  deal 
about  having  to  listen  to  the  same  sermon  every  few 
months." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  that  very  complaint  might  not  have  a 
compliment  hidden  underneath  it,  after  all,  for  a  sermon 
must  really  have  some  character  to  it  to  so  fix  itself  upon 
people's  minds  that  they  could  recognize  it  again  after  the 


288     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND   SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

lapse  of  two  or  three  months,"  and  Mrs.  Westlake  laughed 
good-naturedly. 

It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  her  anger  was  something 
that  didn't  last  long,  and  I  think  she  tried  by  every  kindly 
act  in  her  power  to  make  us  forget  the  little  unpleasantness 
that  Betsey's  mistimed  curiosity  had  brought  about ;  and 
when  we  were  alone  in  our  chamber  I  said  to  Betsey  that 
Mrs.  Westlake  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  women  that  I  ever 
visited." 

"  Pleasaiit  enough  " 

Betsey  was  standing  at  the  glass  unfastening  her  collar, 
and  from  where  I  stood  I  could  see  the  reflection  of  her  face 
side  to,  and  it  actually  startled  me  it  looked  so  queer.  We 
had  a  picture  at  home  that  had  hung  over  our  front  room 
mantle-piece  ever  since  I  was  a  child,  of  a  stag  brought  to 
bay  by  the  hunters.  The  noble  brute  had  turned  his  face 
to  the  dogs  that  were  almost  upon  him,  the  foremost  of 
them  standing  poised  ready  for  the  final  spring,  with  his 
sharp,  eager  muzzle  and  fierce  eyes  wearing  a  look  of  sav- 
age satisfaction  that,  to  my  childish  fancy,  had  something 
disagreeably  human  in  it,  a  fancy  that  I  never  could  rid 
myself  of,  and — perhaps  the  glass  was  a  poor  one — but  for 
a  moment  Betsey  Rice's  long,  thin,  sharp  face,  wore  pre- 
cisely the  look  of  that  foremost  hound,  and  I  drew  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  a  little  turn  of  her  head  destroyed  the  like- 
ness, although  it  didn't  hinder  the  disagreeable  feeling  with 
which  I  listened  to  her  talk  about  the  Westlakes. 

••That  woman  has  got  something  in  her  past  life  that  she 
wants  to  hide,  and  is  afraid  her  old  mother  will,  in  some 
way,  let  out.  It's  none  of  my  business,  of  course,  but  I 
should  like  to  know  why  she  colors  up  and  looks  so  guilty 
when  Paul  Westlake's  father  happens  to  be  mentioned." 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  289 

I  hinted  that  he  might  not  have  been  a  favorite  with  his 
wife's  relatives,  and  that  they  chose  to  let  his  memory  die 
with  him. 

Betsey  laughed  significantly. 

••  You've  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  for  once,  and  that,   too, 
without  knowing  it,"  she  said,  giving  roe  an  odd  look  from 
one  corner  of  her  eye,   but   at  that  moment  the   sound  of 
wheels,  and  a  man's  voice  and  step  in  the  entry   below,   di- 
rected her   attention   from   the   subject  of  Mrs.   Westlake's 


mvsteries, 


;'It's  her  husband  got  home,  probably."  she  said,  after 
listening  at  the  key  hole  for  a  few  minutes,  "and  I  must 
say  that  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  sleep- 
ing in  a  strange  house  with  nobody  but  women  folks  in  it  to 
call  on  in  case  of  lire  or  sickness." 

For  my  own  part  I  didn't  feel  any  special  need  of  a  pro- 
tector, but  I  did  go  to  sleep  with  an  easier  mind  knowing 
that  the  queer  old  woman  down  stairs  would  rest  the  better 
for  knowing  that  her  son-in-law  was  close  at  hand  in  case 
she  should  need  him. 

This,  my  last  thought  at  night  was  my  first  one  in  the 
morning,  and  I  was  surprised  when  I  went  down  into  the 
sitting  room  to  hear  the  old  lady  scolding  away  like  the 
head  of  an  old  fiddle  :  — 

'•Don't  come  here,  I  tell  you  !  I  don't  want  you  here, 
you  aint  a  safe  person  to  have  round,  and  it  makes  my 
flesh  creep  and  my  blood  curdle  in  my  veins  to  have  you 
near  me." 

Here  a  man's  voice  made  some  soothing  answer,  but  the 
old  ladv  screamed  out  fiercer  than  before  : — 

'•Don't  -grandmother'  me.  you  wolfs  cub  !  /  can  see 
your  teeth  an'  claws  under  the  sheep  skin." 


RE-TOLD  TALES   OF  THE  HILLS  AXD   SHORES   OF  MAINE. 

And  she  wound  up  with  a  cry  so  like  a  frightened,  angry 

child,  that  I  almost  expected  when  Mrs.  Westlake  came 
out  to  us  to  see  her  with  a  screaming  baby  in  her  arms, 
but  instead  of  a  baby  she  was  followed  by  a  tall,  broad 
shouldered  young  man.  whose  grave  face  lighted  up  at  sight 
of  us.  while  he  acknowledged  Betsey's  characteristic  saluta- 
tion :  "Why,  Paul  Westlake,  is  that  you?"  with  the  old 
pleasant  laugh  that  I  had  heard  so  many  times  and  never 
without  pleasure,  and — 

'•I:  is  /.  Miss  Betsey,  sure.  But  I  should  judge  by  your 
looks  that  you  ;  to  Bee  me." 

"No,"  and  Betsey  eyed  him  sharply  as  she  spoke.  "I 
underst-od  that  your  vacation  wouldn't  be  for  some  time 
yet." 

"That's  so,    but  my  thoughtful   mother,    here,"   and   he 
put  his  arm  round  her  waist  with  an  air  of  boyish  gallai 
half  fun  and  half  earnest,  that  made  her  laugh  and  blush 
like  a  happy  _'  '..    "gave  me  a    hint    that   if  I   could  get 
leave  -  nee  for  a  few   days  I  should  find  mvself  well 

repaid  for  the  trouble  of  coming." 

"It's  a  pity  you  should  have  been  so  disappointed,"  and 
Betsey  drew  herself  up  with  a  half  offended  air.  ''But 
perhaps  Mrs.  Westlake  will  take  warning  from  it  not  to 
count  her  chickens  before  they  are  hatched,  again." 

This  was  a  specimen  of  Betsey's  style  of  joking,  and  we 
all  laughed  because  she  seemed  to  expect      -  some- 

-  at   the   breakfast  table  that  morning   didn't 
Beem  to  b<  darly  merry  one  in  spite  of  Mrs.   W 

P  up  a  pleasant,  nation  on 

I  thingsi  °  al,  for  Paul  was  unusually  quiet 
and  Betsey  anasually  sharp,  so  that  the  go  >d-natured  little 
lady  had  her  bauds  full  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  cheer- 
fulness. 


BETSEY  J  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  291 

''You  expected  to  find  Rache  here?"  I  said  to  Paul,  as 
we  stood  alone  together  by  the  suuny  south  window  of 
Mrs.  West-lake's  sitting  room. 

'•Scarcely.  I  didn't  think  that  she  would  care  to  come 
just  now,  but  I  couldn't  be  certain,  knowing  that  my 
mother  expected  her." 

How  thoroughly  those  two  understood  each  other,  and  I 
thought,  as  I  stood  watching  him  as  he  turned  his  mother's 
roses  and  geraniums  so  that  the  buds  could  catch  the  sun- 
shine, that  a  year's  separation  was,  after  all,  but  a  very 
small  matter  compared  to  a  life-time  of  happiness  such  as 
theirs  must  be. 

Betsey's  shrill  tones  and  the  querulous  voice  of  the  old 
dame  in  the  next  room  reached  us  as  we  stood  there  to- 
gether, and  I  saw  a  look  of  pain  pass  over  the  young  man's 
face,  while  there  was  perplexity  as  well  as  regret  in  his 
voice  as  he  said  thoughtfully  : — 

"It  is  curious,  but  my  grandmother  never  seemed  to  have 
the  least  affection  for  me,  and  as  I  grow  older  she  seems  to 
fear  as  well  as  dislike  me.  I  remember  when  I  was  a  lit- 
tle fellow,  and  I  used  sometimes  to  venture  on  a  caress  or 
some  little  service  that  brought  me  near  her,  how  she  would 
push  me  away  with  a  shudder,  just  as  she  would  some  dis- 
agreeable insect.  And  yet  I  am  the  only  grandchild  that 
she  has." 

"She  has  lost  her  mind  and  isn't  responsible  for  her  fan- 
cies," I  said,  trying  to  find  some  polite  apology  for  this 
strange  freak. 

"I  suppose  so,  and  yet  it  is  a  hard  trial  to  me.  You 
heard  her  talk  to  me  this  morning?" 

I  nodded  for  I  couldn't  deny  it. 

"All  that  was  because  I  proposed  giving  her  a  com- 
posing draught  to  quiet  her  nerves,  for  she  was   unusually 


292      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

wakeful  through  the  night.  She  declared  that  I  wanted  to 
poison  her,  and  ended  by  ordering  me  never  to  come  into 
her  room  again." 

Just  the  a  we  heard  the  old  lady  call  out  in  her  most  ex- 
cited tones  :  — 

"Tell  her,  from  me,  ?iot  to  have  him  if  she  values  her 
life  at  a  pin's  worth." 

Paul  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  wondering  at  first,  then, 
as  the  same  suspicion  awoke  in  each  with  a  painful  embar- 
rassment that  Mrs.  Westlake's  entrance  prevented  finding 
expression  in  words. 

The  meeting  was  an  uncommonly  interesting  one  and 
with  that  and  our  visit  the  week  slipped  away  before  we 
knew  it,  and  Saturday  morning  we  started  for  home,  carry- 
ing with  us  a  big  budget  of  compliments,  invitations,  and 
regards  for  those  at  home,  with  some  extra  dainty  tid-bits 
for  Rache's  special  benefit  that  were  entrusted  to  mv  care 
alone  :  — 

"Tell  the  dear  girl  that  our  mutual  sorrow  at  parting 
with  the  one  that  we  both  so  dearly  love  will  be  but  another 
bond  of  affection  between  us,  for  the  thought  of  her  °rief 
gives  her  a  warmer  place  in  my  heart  than  even  her  beauty 
and  goodness  had  the  power  to  do.  Tell  her,  too,  that  I 
shall  claim  a  great  part  of  her  time  during  Paul's  absence 
for  myself,  for  we  shall  have  the  right,  and  I  believe  the 
power,  to  comfort  each  other." 

This  was  the  good  woman's  parting  message,  whispered 
under  cover  of  adjusting  my  cloak  cape,  while  Betsey  was 
settling  a  hot  brick  for  her  own  feet  in  the  bottom  of  the 
wagon,  and  a  wrinkled,  little  old  face,  peered  out  at  us 
from  a  window  of  the  invalid's  room,  nodding  a  farewell  to 
the  guests  that  she  evidently  believed  came  expressly  to 
visit  her. 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  293> 

The  old  mare  pricked  up  her  ears  and  we  started  off  in 
grand  style,  but  I  noticed  that  once  out  of  sight  of  the 
house  Betsey  loosened  the  reins,  and  after  a  time  omitting 
the  usual  encouraging  chirrup,  even,  she  let  the  lazy  beast 
take  her  own  time,  while  she  scarce  answered  the  remarks 
that  I  made,  now  and  then,  for  the  sake  of  saying  some- 
thing— a  queer  state  of  affairs,  considering  that  she  was 
usually  so  fond  of  the  sound  of  her  own  voice  that  she  kept 
it  going  most  of  the  time. 

It  was  plain  that  she  was  in  a  brown  study  over  some- 
thing, and  as  I  stole  a  look  at  her  face,  now  and  then,  it 
fairly  puzzled  me,  for  one  moment  it  was  pleased,  satisfied, 
the  next,  anxious  and  troubled. 

We  stopped  to  dinner  at  a  little  out  of  the  way  tavern, 
and  I  never  saw  any  creature  so  ridgetty  and  absent  minded 
as  she  was  all  the  time  we  were  there.  In  the  first  place  she 
ordered  our  dinner  ready  at  twenty-two  o'clock,  and  when 
I  laughed  at  the  mistake  she  was  as  cross  as  a  bear,  snapped 
me  up  with  something  about  "people  in  glass  houses"  that 
provoked  me  so  that  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  be  as 
o-lum  as  she  was  the  rest  of  the  dav,  but  when  our  team 
was  brought  to  the  door  and  she  asked  the  hostler  if  the  old 
mare  had  had  her  laudanum.  I  couldn't  keep  still  any 
longer,  and  as  soon  as  we  were  fairly  started  I  spoke  right 
out,  without  any  ifs  or  ands,  and  says  I  :  — 

••Betsey  Rice,  what  in  creation  is  the  matter  with  you? 
I  should  say  that  you  was  either  foolish  or  crazy,  or  both." 
She  didn't  answer  me  at  first,  and  I  concluded  that  she 
didn't  hear  me,  but  I  soon  found  out  my  mistake. 

"Dollv,"  says  she,  in  a  slow,  deliberate  way  that  hadn't 
a  touch  of  temper  in  it,  k 'you've  always  been  so  intimate  in 
our  family  that  you  seem  almost  like  one  of  us,  and  I  can 
say  things  to  you  that  I   wouldn't   to   anybody   else.     You 


"  '] 


294  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

remember  when  I  made  that  visit  to  my  mother's  folks  in 
New  Hampshire,  the  summer  I  was  fifteen?" 
"Yes,  indeed,  I  remember  it  well." 

'•One  of  my  uncles  lived  in  Lyconia,  and  it  was  while  I 
was  there  that  I  heard  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about : 

"One  morning  my  cousin  Bethiah  came  running  in  from 
one  of  the  neighbors,  and  says  she  :  'Who  do  you  think  is 
dead?  Guess  quick,  mother.'  Aunt  guessed  a  number  of 
folks  that  she  knew  was  sick,  but  Bethiah  shook  her  head 
at  each  one. 

:None  o'  the7?z^  says  she. 

'Man  or  woman?'  says  aunt  Ann,  beginning  to  be  ex- 
cited. 

"'Man.  But  I  guess  I  might  as  well  tell  you  —  it's 
Dr.  Milton.' 

"Her  mother  stopped  stirring  her  pan  of  gingerbread  and 
looked  at  her  for  a  full  minute  in  silence,  and  then  she  drew 
a  deep  sigh,  and  says  she  : — 

"  'Poor  creature  !  when  did  he  die,  Bethiah?' 
"  'They  found  him  dead  this  mornin',  setting  up  straight 
an'  stiff  in  his  chair ;  and  they  sayf  here  she  dropped  her 
voice  and  looked  sideways  at  me,  'that  it  choked  him  to 
death  at  last.  Mis'  Jimps  said  his  face  was  a  good  deal 
swelled.' 

"  'It?'  I  was  gettin'  kind  o'  curious,  and  I  suppose  aunt 
mistrusted  it,  for  she  said,  with  the  soberest  face  that  I  ever 
saw  her  have  on  : — 

"  'lie's  been  a  bad  man,  I'm  afraid,  this  Paul  Milton. 
Most  folks  think  him  a  murderer,  and  I  must  say  the  evi- 
dence was  pretty  strong  against  him.  But  he's  gone,  now, 
poor  soul!  to  a  world  where  folks  are  sure  of  their  just 
dues,  whatever  they  are.' 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  295 

"  'Do  tell  about  him,'  says  I,  and  she  went  on  with  her 
story  :  — 

"  'He  came  here  when  he  was  a  young  man.  just  begin- 
ning to  practice,  and  he  lived  a  bachelor  life  till  he  was  as 
much  as  thirty-live  or  thereabout,  and  then  he  married  a 
girl  from  out  of  town  and  brought  her  home  with  him.  A 
sweet,  pretty  little  creature  she  was  as  ever  lived,  and  he 
seemed  to  think  everything  of  her  at  first,  although  every- 
body else  could  see  that  she  wasn't  really  a  co??ipa??ion  for 
him  after  all.  You  see,  he  was  a  highly  educated  man, 
a  great  reader,  and  a  deep  thinker,  while  she  was  just  a  sim- 
ple, timid  child,  well  brought  up  and  of  a  good  family,  but 
altogether  too  young  and  childish  for  a  man  like  him.  And 
after  a  while  I  noticed,  especially  after  her  baby  was  born, 
that  he  spent  more  time  with  a  new  patient  of  his  that  had 
lately  moved  into  the  place,  than  he  did  in  his  own  home, 
till  pretty  soon  folks  begun  to  talk — as  folks  will — about 
his  bein'  too  thick  with  the  Jameson's  for  a  married  man 
with  a  wife  and  baby  of  his  own. 

'•For  my  own  part.  I  never  wondered  that  he  liked  to  go 
there,  for  this  Miss  Jameson  was  one  of  the  most  interest- 
ing women  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  She  could  talk 
about  anything,  and  it  was  as  good  as  a  book  to  hear  her 
describe  the  people  and  places  where  she'd  been,  for  her 
father  was  an  old  sea  cap'n  and  she  had  been  ever  so  many 
foreign  voyages  with  him.  The  doctor  used  to  say  that  he 
never  talked  with  her  ten  minutes  without  hearing  some- 
thing new  and  worth  the  knowing,  and  everybody  liked  her 
even  if  they  did  gossip  about  her. 

••The  doctor  wanted  his  wife  to  get  acquainted  with  his 
new  patient,  but  she  was  feeble — she  didn't  get  up  very 
well — and  nervous,  and  she  didn't  take  much  interest  in 
anybody  or  anything  but  her  baby.   She  fussed  andfidgetted 


296     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

over  that  the  whole  continual  time.  So  after  a  while  the 
doctor  give  up  trying  to  get  her  out  or  to  interest  her  in  any- 
thing outside  of  her  own  home. 

"I  suppose  some  tattlin'  busybody  took  occasion  to  tell 
her  of  the  gossip  that  was  going  on  about  her  husband,  for 
she  begun  to  grow  dreadful  fractious  and  uncomfortable, 
and  every  week  or  so  she  would  write  a  long  letter  to  her 
mother  that  she  was  very  careful  not  to  leave  where  the 
doctor  could  get  a  peep  at  it,  while  she  always  burned  the 
answers  as  quick  as  she  read  'em. 

"It  was  a  bad  state  of  affairs,  and  I  was  glad  enough 
when  I  wasn't  needed  to  nurse  any  longer,  and  could  °-0 
home,  where  folks  didn't  have  any  secret  trials  to  fret  them- 
selves to  death  over. 

"I  had  been  at  home  about  three  weeks,  when  one  morn- 
ing old  Chick,  the  doctor's  man,  come  drivin'  up  to  our 
house  like  mad,  and  when  he  saw  me  he  gasped  out : — 

"  'Do  come  over  to  our  house  just  as  quick  as  you  can  ! 
Mis'  Milton  she's  dead,  an'  even  the  doctor  can't  bring  her 
to.     For  the  Lord's  sake,  do  come,  quick  !' 

'•When  I  got  there  the  doctor  was  walkin'  back  an'  forth 
across  the  sittin'  room,  all  alone,  an'  when  I  come  in  he 
said  'good  morning'  just  the  same  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, "but  his  face  was  as  white  as  the  face  of  the  dead, 
and  there  was  the  strangest  look  in  his  eyes  when  he  said  : — 
"  'I  sent  for  you,  Ann,  because  I  knew  that  you  had 
common  sense  enough  to  know  what  to  do  in  this  terrible 
case.  I  was  out  all  last  night  with  a  patient,  and  when  I 
g(Jt  home  about  four  this  morning  I  found  my  wife  dead  in 
her  bed.  I  want  you  to  lay  her  out  and  see  that  everything 
is  done  properly  and  as  it  should  be.' 

"  'But,'  I  said,  tremblin'  all  over  like  a  leaf,  as  I  fol- 
lowed him  up  the  stairs  to  his  wife's  room,  'I  must  have 
somebody  to  help  me.' 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MA  STER's  SECRET.  297 

"  'Get  any  one  you  please,'  says  he  sharply.  'But  mind, 
now,  I  won't  have  my  house  overrun  with  a  troop  of  prying, 
gossiping  women.' 

"She  laid  there  in  her  bed  looking  more  like  her  old 
self  than  she  had  before  for  months,  with  her  arm  that  the 
baby  had  laid  on  stretched  out  beside  her  so  natural  that, 
for  the  moment,  I  could  hardly  believe  that  she  was  really 
dead,  and  I  half  expected  to  see  her  open  her  eyes  and  hear 
her  call  my  name  as  I'd  heard  her  so  many  times  before. 

"Well,  I  got  one  of  the  neighbors  to  help  me,  and  we 
laid  her  out  in  the  white  silk  dress  that  she  was  married  in. 
(her  husband  told  us  to)  and  he  had  her  buried  the  very 
next  day.  so  that  her  folks,  her  mother  and  sister  and  broth- 
er-in-law. never  got  there  till  she  was  fairly  under  the  ground. 
There  was  a  time,  then,  I  tell  you.  The  mother  screamed 
like  a  mad  woman  when  she  saw  the  doctor,  declaring  that 
he'd  killed  her  child  and  hidden  her  out  of  sight  to  con- 
ceal the  crime  ;  the  sister  cried  and  sobbed  over  the  poor 
little  motherless  baby,  and  the  brother-in-law.  who  seemed 
a  sensible,  square-minded  sort  of  a  man.  made  some  plain 
talk  that  the  doctor  didn't  much  relish,  I  guess,  for  he  or- 
dered him  out  of  the  house,  and  told  him  to  do  his  worst, 
he  wa'n't  afraid  of  him. 

"But  the  town  officers  was  complained  to  and  they  had 
the  body  taken  up  and  examined  by  a  lot  of  doctors,  and 
the  next  day  but  one  after  his  wife's  funeral  Dr.  Milton  was 
arrested  for  her  murder  and  lodged  in  the  county  jail  to 
wait  his  trial. 

"When  that  come  off,  the  brother-in-law  proved  by  let- 
ters in  Mrs.  Milton's  own  handwriting  that  her  husband  had 
treated  her  with  neglect  and  indifference  for  some  time,  and 

in  one  of  the  letters  she  wrote  : — 
20 


298     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND   SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"  'I  wish  I  was  safe  at  home  with  you  for  I  am  really 
afraid  sometimes  for  my  life.  It  would  be  such  an  easy 
thing  for  him  to  put  me  out  of  his  way  with  some  poisonous 
drug  and  nobody  ever  mistrust  him.' 

'  'The  doctors  agreed  that  she  died  from  the  effects  of  lau- 
danum, and  his  indecent  haste  in  burying  her  before  her 
friends  came  told  strongly  against  the  prisoner.  Then,  the 
patient  that  he  pretended  to  have  passed  the  night  with 
swore  that  he  left  his  house  before  eleven  o'clock  the  evenin' 
before,  and  that  was  another  thing  against  him. 

'•But  the  lawyer  on  the  other  side  argued  that  the  lauda- 
num might  have  been  taken  for  medicine  and  without  her 
husband's  knowledge  or  consent.  It  was  kept  in  the  house 
with  other  medicines  and  might  easily  have  been  taken  by 
mistake  or,  judgin'  by  the  tone  of  her  letters,  in  a  fit  of 
childish  jealousy. 

"So  they  had  it,  back  an'  forth,  but  though  everybody 
else  thought  him  guilty  the  jury  disagreed,  and  at  last 
brought  him  in  'not  guilty,'  and  he  come  back  to  his  old 
home  a  free  but  disgraced  man.  shunned  by  everybody, 
even  Miss  Jameson  wouldn't  speak  to  him,  and  if  she  met 
him  passed  him  by  with  a  shudder,  and  those  who  had  been 
his  best  friends  for  years  wouldn't  employ  him,  so  at  last 
he  give  up  tryin'  to  live  it  down  as  he'd  said  at  first  that  he 
would,  and  settled  down  alone  to  himself. 


"His  sister-in-law  had  taken  the  baby  home  with  her 
when  he  was  arrested  and  was  very  anxious  to  adopt  it, 
and  he  wrote  her  that  she  might  have  the  child  if  she  would 
bring  it  up  as  her  own  and  never  let  it  know  of  it's  father's 
disgrace. 

"She  was  glad  enough  to  agree  to  this,  and  I  heard  some 
time  afterwards  that  the  whole  family,  grandmother  and  all 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  299 

had  moved   away,   nobody  knew  where,  and  that  was  the 
last  I  ever  heard  of  them. 

"There  wan't  a  woman  in  Lyconia  that  would  have  kept 
house  for  him  if  he'd  paid  her  in  diamonds,  so  he  o-ot  a  widow 
woman  and  her  daughter,  some  distant  connection  of  his 
from  somewhere  in  York  State,  to  come  an'  take  the  house 
an'  board  him. 

"That  was  ten  years  ago,  that  the  trial  was,  and  the  last 
eight  years  he  has  spent  in  his  own  room — the  very  chamber 
that  his  wife  died  in — sitting  day  after  day,  in  his  arm  chair 
in  a  corner  by  the  fire-place,  never  speaking  unless  spoken 
to,  and  digging  with  his  heavy  cane  at  the  floor  with  a 
queer  jerky  motion,  as  if  he  was  shovelling  dirt  out  of  a 
grave.  His  housekeeper  told  me  not  long  ago  that  the  solid 
oak  floor  was  worn  almost  through  in  that  place,  and  other 
folks  say  that  a  cord  has  been  all  this  time  growin'  round 
his  neck  to  strangle  him  with  one  of  these  days." 

"That's  the  'it,'  I  suppose?"  said  I,  and  my  aunt  nodded, 
although  she  took  occasion  to  say  that  such  foolish  notions 
ought  not  to  be  mentioned  even,  by  sensible  people,  who 
knew  better. 

"We  went  to  the  funeral  as  did  everybody  else  in  Ly- 
conia, and  I  saw  the  face  that,  for  eight  long  years  his 
nearest  neighbors  hadn't  had  even  a  glimpse  of,  a  wrinkled, 
worn  face,  the  long  beard  and  hair  white  as  snow,  un- 
trimmed  in  all  that  time,  and  the  form  so  wasted  that  a  boy 
of  twelve  could  have  lifted  it  in  his  arms  without  any 
trouble. 

"There  was  a  look  in  that  face  that  I  never  forgot,  and 
when  I  saw  Paul  Westlake  for  the  first  time  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  looks  that  struck  me  as  natural,  while  at  the 
same  time  it  gave  me  a  disagreeable  feeling  that  I  didn't 
understand  at  the  time,  till  I  happened  to  see  his  name  in 


300    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

full  on  that  handkerchief,  and  then  I  began  to  mistrust  that 
he  might  be  the  son  of  the  man  that  I  heard  of  in  Lyconia 
so  many  years  ago. 

"  'Twas  only  a  guess,  to  be  sure,  for  I  didn't  even  know 
if  that  child  was  a  boy,  but  I  hunted  up  some  old  papers 
that  I'd  brought  home  with  me  that  had  a  notice  of  the  af- 
fair in  one,  and  I  found  the  child  spoken  of  as  his  "little 
son,"  so  I  knew  I  was  right  so  far,  and  that  crazy  old  grand- 
mother let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  ears  an'  all.  Didn't  I  really 
long,  when  we  come  away,  to  tell  that  deceitful  aunt  of 
his  that  I'd  found  her  out,  and  that  she  couldn't  palm  the 
son  of  a  man  that  was  tried  for  the  murder  of  his  own  wife 
upon  a  respectable  family  ?" 

I  was  so  utterly  confounded  that  I  didn't  know  what  to 
say,  sol  only  said  ''Gracious!"  and  stared  at  Betsey  with 
all  my  eyes,  while  she  went  on  more  as  if  she  was  talking 
to  herself  than  to  me  : — 

"It'll  be  a  hard  thing  for  Rache — but  she'd  better  know 
it  now  than  when  it's  too  late .  " 

"Too  later 

"Yes.  If  they  was  already  married  it  couldn't  make 
any  difference  of  course." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  when  Rache  hears  this  story 
of  yours  she  will  break  her  engagement  with  Paul  West- 
lake?" 

"To  be  sure  she  will.  Do  you  think  that  I'd  see  a  sister 
of  mine  married  to  a  man  whose  father  just  escaped  the 
gallows  ?" 

There  was  an  air  of  provoking  assurance  in  the  way  she 
said  this  that  aggravated  me  into  speaking  my  honest  senti- 
ments in  spite  of  my  habitual  fear  of  her  tongue,  and  I 
said  boldly  : — 


BETSEY  :   OK  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'?  SECRET.  301 

••Rache  -vent  break  her  engagement  with  the  man  she 
loves,  let  me  tell  you,  even  if  you  could  prove  that  every  re- 
lation he  ever  had  in  the  world  died  in  State's  Prison  and 
that  he  was  a  direct  descendant  from  Cain  himself  into  the 
bargain." 

Betsey  looked  astonished. 

k,Do  you  mean  to  tell  me."  and  she  raised  her  voice  to 
the  righting  key,  "that  you  believe  my  sister  Rachel  will 
marry  that  man  now ?  ' 

••Yes,  I  do." 

'•And  /say  she  won't.  Do  you  suppose  that  she  hasn't 
any  natural  feelings  that  would  keep  her  from  disgracin'  her 
family  as  well  as  herself  by  such  a  match?" 

••I  don't  see  what  disgrace  it  would  be  to  anybody."  I 
said  stubbornly.  "He  is  just  as  good  now  as  he  was  before 
you  managed  by  your  peeking  and  prying  to  find  out  all  this 
mess  about  his  family  :  and  if  /  was  in  Rache  Rice's  place 
I  shouldn't  think  one  grain  the  less  of  him  on  account  of  his 
father's  sin." 

••Humph:" 

I  believe  if  I  could  have  boxed  the  ears  under  Betsey 
Rice's  big  straw  bonnet  at  that  moment,  that  I  should  have 
known  for  once  what  it  was  to  be  perfectly  happy,  and 
even  to  this  day  I  never  can  recall  the  contemptuous  air  and 
tone,  and  the  complacent  superiority  with  which  she  pro- 
nounced that  one  little  word  without  a  suspicious  tingling  in 
my  ringer  tips,  that  warns  me  that  the  old  Adam  isn't  quite 
dead  in  me  yet  in  spite  of  my  three-score  years'  discipline 
of  toil  and  poverty  and  care. 

"Time  will  show  I"  I  muttered,  and  time  did  show  that 
Rache  Rice  wan't  exactly  the  pliant  twig  that  her  sister  had 
counted  on.  To  be  sure  there  was  a  great  commotion  in 
the  Rice  household  when  the   story  of  that  old  man  in  Lv- 


302     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

conia  was  told.  Everybody  talked  at  once,  wondering  and 
questioning  about  it,  until  Rache,  who  had  been  sitting  pale 
and  still  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  turned  her  calm,  ear- 
nest eyes  upon  her  sister,  while  she  asked,  quietly  : — 

"Why  did  you  take  the  trouble  to  find  all  this  out  now, 
Betsey?" 

Betsey  gave  her  a  withering  look  as  she  answered 
sharply  : — 

"Do  you  think  I  wanted  a  sister  of  mine  to  marry  the 
son  of  a  murderer  ?" 

Rache  looked  bewildered. 

"You  didn't  think  that — that  this  would  make  any  differ- 
ence in  ?ny  feelings  toward  Paul?" 

"Rachel  Rice,  are  you  a  born  fool !"  and  Betsey's  wrath 
flamed  hot  and  high. 

"Do  you  think  that  / — that  any  of  your  family  would 
consent  to  your  throwing  yourself  away  upon  that  man, 
noivT 

Rache  smiled,  and  her  voice  was  just  as  low  and  soft  as 
ever,  as  she  said  with  a  glance  at  her  sister's  angry  face  :  — 
"I  shall  have  to  marry  'without  your  consent  then." 
"Good  for  you,  Rache!"  called  out  Jack  approvingly, 
and  as  all  the  rest  of  the  family  seemed  more  or  less  ready 
to  admit  that  she  was  right  in  holding  to  her  engagement, 
Betsey's  grand  discovery  that  she  had  taken  so  much  pains 
to  make  seemed  to  have  made  but  little  difference  in  her 
sister's  plans  after  all. 

I  said  "seemed,"  for  Betsey  Rice  was  not  one  to  give  up 
anything  that  she  had  set  her  mind  on  so  easily,  and  when 
Paul  came  to  make  his  parting  visit  before  leaving,  she  took 
that  time  to  tell  him  the  sad  story  that  had  been  for  so  many 
years  mercifully  withheld  from  him  ;   and  then  in  the  midst 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  803 

of  his  grief  and  mortification   she  hinted   at  the    "dreadful 
disgrace,"  that,  as  his  wife,  Rache  would  have  to  suffer. 

But  she  missed  her  mark  there,  too,  for  Paul  refused  to 
consider  himself  disgraced  by  the  accusation  that  had  ruined 
his  father. 

"You  have  succeeded,"  he  said,  "in  planting  a  thorn  in 
my  pillow  that  must  wound  me  as  long  as  I  live.  Whether 
the  terrible  crime  of  which  my  poor  father  was  accused  was 
really  committed  by  him  God  only  knows,  but  even  if  he 
were  guilty  it  was  no  fault  of  mine,  and  I  cannot  see  why 
any  disgrace  should  fall  on  me  on  account  of  it." 

"You  take  it  wonderfully  easy,"  snapped  Betsey.  "For 
my  part  I  consider  it  an  honor  to  me  that  I  can  trace  back 
my  ancestors  for  half  a  dozen  generations  and  not  find  a 
murderer,  a  drunkard  or  a  thief  among  them." 

"It  must  be  a  great  satisfaction,  no  doubt  it  is  ;  but  as  to 
its  being  any  special  honor  to  yon,  this  array  of  honest 
forefathers,  I  must  say  that  I  fail  to  see  it  in  that  light. 
You  had  nothing  to  do  with  their  honesty  any  more  than  I 
had  to  do  with  my  father's  disgrace." 

Betsey  argued  and  scolded  by  turns,  but  the  sturdy  self- 
respect  and  common  sense  of  the  young  man  was  like  an 
immovable  wall  against  which  poor  Betsey  beat  her  angry 
fists  in  vain,  until  at  last,  apparently  seeing  for  herself 
that  longer  fighting  was  useless,  she,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"gave  up"  and  let  matters  take  their  own  course. 

She  "had  no  ill  will  against  the  young  man,"  she  said, 
and  when  he  took  his  final  leave  of  the  family  she  shook 
his  hand  as  cordially  as  any  of  them,  and  wished  him  a 
"prosperous  journey  and  a  safe  return"  with  as  much  ap- 
parent sincerity  as  anybody  could  desire.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  his  hopefulness  and  courage  Rache  had  come  to 
look  upon  their  parting  with  a  cheerful  confidence  that  up- 


304      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

held  her  even  under  Betsey's  unexpressed  but  only  too  evi- 
dent displeasure. 

And  yet  it  was  no  light  trial  to  the  affectionate  girl  to  see 
her  life-long  place  by  her  sister's  side,  at  home  or  abroad, 
always  rilled  by  Sarah  or  Polly,  whose  society  Betsey 
seemed,  now,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  to  reallv  enjoy, 
while  if  Pache  proffered  her  any  of  the  little  loving  services 
that  she  had  for  so  many  years  received  as  her  right,  she 
was  coldly  repulsed  and  given  to  understand  that  one  of  the 
other  girls  could  do  quite  as  well. 

"She'll  get  over  it  in  time,  just  let  her  alone."  I  used  to 
say  to  Rache  when  she  came  to  me  for  sympathy,  and  the 
dear,  patient  little  soul  would  go  back  to  her  trial,  bravely 
facing  the  coldness  and  neglect  that  her  loving,  dependent 
nature  was  no  better  fitted  to  endure  than  a  lily  of  the  val- 
ley is  the  frosts  of  a  November  night. 

But  I  could  see  as  the  days  and  weeks  went  by  that  it 
wore  upon  her,  although  at  last  she  stopped  speaking  of  it, 
even  to  me.  and  if  I  said  anything  about  it  she  would  try 
to  turn  it  off  by  talking  of  something  else  as  fast  as  she 
could.  But  she  didn't  deceive  me.  I  knew  her  too  well  for 
that,  and  I  knew  as  well  as  if  she  had  told  me  that  Betsey's 
treatment  of  her  was  a  constant  torture  let  her  try  as  hard 
as  she  might  to  hide  it. 

I  never  shall  forget  one  night,  at  class  meeting,  a  few 
weeks  after  Paul  left,  there  was  an  unusually  full  attend- 
ance, and  Betsey  got  up  there  before  them  all  and  began 
t  -  Speak  of  her  ••dome-tic  griefs,"  and  the  terrible  trial 
that  she  found  it  to  "forgive  those  who  would  trample  on 
tin-  closest  bonds  of  natural  affection,  "and  at  last  wound  up 
by  asking  the  prayers  of  her  Christian  brothers  and  sisters 
that  she  "might  bear  with  patience  the  heavy  burden  that 
human  selfishness  had  laid  upOD  her  shoulders." 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  305 

Now  we  all  know  that  human  nature  is  human  nature 
just  the  same  in  a  class  meeting  as  anywhere  else,  and  it 
isn't  strange  that  everybody's  curiosity  should  be  aroused  to 
know  "What  the  trouble  was  with  Betsey  Rice?"  or  that 
the  young  minister,  while  he  exhorted  her  to  be  of  good 
cheer  and  look  to  Heaven  for  strength  and  patience  to  bear 
her  trials,  should  cast  a  reproachful  yet  pitying  glance  at 
the  flushed,  tear-stained  face  of  the  younger  sister,  who, 
astonished  and  mortified  at  this  public  exhibition  of  private 
troubles,  sat  silent,  with  tightly  clasped  hands  and  a  terri- 
ble sense  of  personal  humiliation  swelling  her  heart  almost 
to  bursting. 

"Oh,  Betsey!  How  could  you?'  she  sobbed,  as  soon  as 
we  were  fairly  started  on  our  way  home.  "What  will 
people  think  you  meant?" 

"No  matter  what  they  think,"  and  Betsey  gave  a  sniff 
that  she  meant  should  pass  for  a  sigh.  "As  long  as  my 
mouth  is  shut  at  home  I  must  find  sympathy  somewhere." 
••Yes;  and  in  hunting  for  sympathy  you  have  managed 
to  set  every  tongue  in  town  wagging  over  the  dreadful  mys- 
tery that  you  hinted  at,"  I  cried,  angrily.  "Everybody 
knows  of  Rache's  engagement,  and  after  what  you  have 
said  to-night  they  won't  be  long  in  guessing  that  your 
trouble  has  something  to  do  with  that." 

"/ain't  responsible  for  their  guessings,"  snuffed  Betsey, 
with  an  injured  air.      "Rache  knows  that  her  obstinacy  is 
just  killing  me  by  inches,  for  if  I  once  see  her  the  wife  of 
that  man  I  never   shall  hold  my  head   up  afterwards,  the 
shame  and  sorrow  together  will  break  me  down  entirely." 
"Fush  !"  I  muttered,  while  Rache  sobbed  imploringly  : — 
"Oh,  Betsey  !      How  can  you  be  so  cruel  and  unjust?    I 
would  do  anything  in  the  world  to  please  you,   but  I  have 
no  right  to  break  a  solemn  promise  even  for  your  sake." 


306     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"A  bad  promise  is  better  broken  than  kept,"  and  with 
this  final  "fling"  Betsey  wrapped  her  shawl  closer  about 
her  and  stalked  on  ahead,  never  deigning  either  of  us 
another  word,  good  or  bad,  all  the  rest  of  the  way  home. 

It  all  came  to  pass  just  as  I  said  it  would,  and  in  a 
week's  time  the  story  was  in  everybody's  mouth  that  "the 
Rices  were  dreadfully  opposed  to  Rache's  marrying  the 
young  doctor  on  account  of  so?nething  that  they  had 
found  out  about  him." 

What  these  discoveries  were,  nobody  pretended  to  know, 
but  of  course  everybody  had  his  or  her  private  theory,  and 
it  was  really  curious  to  hear  the  list  of  crimes  that  were 
suggested  as  possible  in  one  who,  only  a  few  months  before, 
they  had  welcomed  to  their  homes  as  an  honored  and  trusted 
guest,  holding  him  up  as  an  example  to  their  sons,  of  manly 
stability  and  honest  independence  of  character,  all  of  which 
seemed  to  be  forgotten  in  the  general,  and  in  most  cases  un- 
charitable, wonderment  that  Betsey's  ill-timed  plea  for  sym- 
pathy had  started  up. 

It  was  awkward  for  the  Rices,  for,  although  when  ques- 
tioned, all  (Betsey  excepted)  indignantly  denied  the  reports 
against  Paul's  character,  they  could  not  deny  that  Betsey 
had  some  grounds  for  her  opposition  to  the  match,  and  this 
very  mystery  that  they  were  all  too  loyal  to  Paul,  as  well 
as  too  proud  to  unravel  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  public, 
only  fanned  the  flame  the  higher,  uutil  at  last,  Mrs.  Col. 
(irant,  who  was  rather  a  hasty,  quick-tempered  woman, 
wrote  her  sister,  Paul's  mother,  about  it,  telling  her  that 
the  Rice  family  had  influenced  Rache  to  break  her  encase- 
ment,  and  that  they  had  set  afloat  all  sorts  of  disgraceful 
stories  about  him,  to  excuse  their  opposition,  and — I  don't 
know  what  all — but,  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Westlake  felt  so 
provoked    and    insulted    that   she    dropped    Rache    entirely, 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  307 

didn't  even  answer  the  letter  that  the  poor  child  wrote  try- 
ing to  explain  the  matter  ;  while  Mrs.  Grant  took  occasion 
to  tell  everybody  that  the  "mitten  was  on  the  other  foot, 
and  if  there  was  a  broken  engagement  she  guessed  Rache 
Rice  wouldn't  have  a  chance  to  do  the  breaking." 

Of  course  there  were  plenty  of  busy  bodies  to  carry  all 
these  disagreeable  reports  to  the  ears  of  the  ones  most  in- 
terested, making  the  usually  cheerful,  happy  household  of 
the  Rices  a  constant  scene  of  indignant,  angry  excitement, 
in  the  midst  of  which  poor  timid  Rache  was  as  helpless  as 
an  infant. 

With  the  natural  delicacy   of  a  young   and  modest  girl, 
the  very  publicity  given  to  her  love   affairs   by  this  general 
gossip,  was  an  infliction  almost  too  terrible  to  be  borne,  and 
when  to  this  was  added  the   certainty  that  Pauls    reputa- 
tion was  really  suffering  from  the  reports  that  busy  tongues 
were  never  weary  of  circulating,  the  poor  girl,   strong  only 
in  her  affections.  lo>t   heart    entirely,    and   when   her  loud- 
voiced  sisters    repeated  in  angry,  excited  tones,  some  new 
bit  of  the  popular  gossip,    she    would   creep  silently  away, 
with  a  white,  drawn  face  that  excited  their  sympathy,   al- 
though they  could  have  no  more  idea  of  her  suffering  than  a 
Hottentot  has  of  the  mortification  and  disappointment  of  an 
unsuccessful  author,  and  it  was  a  continual  wonderment  to 
them,  as  the  weeks  went  by.   to  see  her   shrink  more   and 
more  from  those  around  her,   refusing  to  go   out,   even    to 
church,  and  avoiding  her  most  familiar  acquaintances   and 
neighbors  as  much  as  possible. 

As  I  have  said,  the  girls  '-wondered"  greatly  how  she 
could  be  "such  a  baby."  They  wouldn't  worry  themselves 
to  death  about  what  other  folks  said  about  Paul  so  long  as 
they  knew  themselves  that  he  was  all  right. 


308   KE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

That  was  common  sense  to  be  sure,  but  we  are  all  slow 
to  comprehend  that  what  is  no  trial  to  us,  may  be  a  cruel, 
crushing  weight  to  another  of  a  different  temperament,  and 
Rache  Rice's  sensitive,  imaginative  nature  was  and  always 
had  been,  a  complete  puzzle  to  her  coarser  and  more  matter- 
of-fact  family. 

It  took  a  good  while  for  letters  to  come  across  the  ocean 
in  those  days,  and  Rache  heard  from  Paul  but  seldom,  and 
even  then  there  was  as  much  to  worry  as  to  comfort  her  in 
his  letters,  for,  as  he  naturally  would,  he  wrote  a  good  deal 
about  his  life  in  the  hospitals,  and  of  the  dreadful  spread  of 
contagious  diseases  that  had  filled  all  the  wards  t)  overflow- 
ing— "splendid  practice  for  a  young  M.  D.,"  he  wrote, 
with  professional  satisfaction,  never  mistrusting  that,  to  the 
timid  girl  whose  heart  was  with  him  in  all  those  scenes  of 
danger  and  suffering,  this  knowledge  of  the  risk  which  he 
must  necessarily  run  was  an  added  thorn  in  her  already 
sleepless  pillow,  until  at  last  she  grew  so  white  and  thin 
that  people  began  to  notice  it,  and  hint  that  she  seemed  con- 
sumptive, while  even  Betsey  forgot  her  displeasure  in  her 
anxiety  about  her  sister's  failing  health,  and  ransacked  wood 
and  field  and  garden  for  roots  and  herbs  to  make  strengthen- 
ing mixtures,  that  she  dosed  her  with  faithfully,  but  without 
effect,  for  she  oaly  grew  weaker  and  paler  every  day,  while 
the  worried,  anxious  look  never  left  her  face,  and  she  would 
start  up,  all  of  a  tremble,  if  she  heard  a  strange  footstep  or 
voice.  She  seemed  like  one  who  is  all  the  time  expecting 
to  hear  some  dreadful  news,  and  she  was  never  really  at 
rest  for  a  moment  when  she  was  awake. 

It  was  a  pleasant  day  late  in  September,  and  I  remember 
as  w.dl  as  if  it  had  been  only  yesterday,  what  a  bright  scar- 
let the  woodbine  over  Father  Rice's  back  porch  was,  when 
I  called  there  on  my  way  to  the  post-office   to  see  if  there 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S   SECRET.  309 

were  any  letters  to  be  sent,  for  I  generally  took  Rache's  let- 
ters for  her  since  she  had  grown  too  weak  to  undertake  so 
long  a  walk  herself. 

Betsey  met  me  at  the  back  door,  and  I  noticed  that  she 
had  been  crying  ;  but  when  I  inquired  for  Rache,  she  put 
on  that  little  important  air.  (she  couldn't  help  it,  poor  soul!) 
while  she  told  me  of  the  sleepless  night  that  she  had  passed 
in  trying  to  quiet  her  sister  who  was  unusually  restless. 

"The  fact  is,"  she  whispered  confidentially,  "Rache  hasn't 
had  a  letter  from  Westlake  for  a  loug  time  now,  and  she  is 
worrying  over  that.  I  do  hope  that  you'll  find  one  at  the 
post-office  to-day,  for  she'll  just  wear  herself  and  me  out 
if  she  don't  get  one  soon." 

Remembering  this,  I  was  glad  enough  when  the  postmas- 
ter handed  me  a  letter  for  "Miss  Rachel  Rice,"  with  a  for- 
eign postmark  on  it.  till  I  took  a  second  look  at  the  direc- 
tion, and  then  my  heart  came  right  up  into  my  mouth,  and 
my  fingers  trembled  so  I  could  hardly  hold  the  letter  still 
while  I  examined  it. 

Now  I  knew  Paul  Westlake's  handwriting  as  well  as  I 
did  my  own,  and  this  was  nothing  at  all  like  it,  for  it  was  a 
stiff,  cramped  looking  hand,  different  from  any  I  ever  saw 
before,  and  with  a  sort  of  foreign  look  about  it  that  I  didn't 
at  all  like. 

What  could  it  mean ?  Was  Paul  sick  or — dead?  I  re- 
peated the  word  to  myself  in  a  frightened  whisper,  for  I 
seemed  to  see  Rache  Rice's  pale  face  and  sad  eyes  looking 
out  at  me  from  the  worn  and  soiled  envelope,  and  I  had  half 
a  mind  to  keep  the  letter  from  her,  after  all,  I  dreaded  so  to 
have  her  find  bad  news  in  it. 

She  was  at  the  window  watching  for  me,  and  I  couldn't 
help  holding  up  the  letter,  just  to  see  her  sweet  face  brighten 
for  a  moment,  with  the  old   glad  smile,  but  it   faded   when 


310     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

she  saw  the  strange  hand,  and  hurriedly  breaking  the  seal 
she  sat  looking  at  it  for  a  minute  or  more  with  a  look  of 
frightened  perplexity. 

"Come  here,  girls,"  she  called,  and  as  Betsey  and  I  came 
to  her  side,  she  added,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  while  she  pointed 
with  a  trembling  finger  to  the  few  lines  that  the  sheet  con- 
tained : — 

"It  is  from  one  Jules  Le-Fevre,  and  is  written  in  French. 
What  shall  I  do?     I  can't  read  it." 

"7  can."  And  Betsey  took  the  letter  from  her  sister's 
trembling  fingers  and  glanced  curiously  at  the  stiff,  odd 
looking  characters.  "I  don't  know  much  about  French,  to 
be  sure,"  in  answer  to  Rache's  inquiring  look,  "but  there's 
an  old  French  dictionary  up  stairs  that  Master  Rawlins  left 
here,  and  I  know  I  can  manage  to  find  out  what  the  letter 
means  by  the  help  of  that." 

"Hadn't  you  better  get  Mr.  Bird  to  read  it  for  you  ?  He 
understands  French,  I  know,  for  I  heard  him  offer  to  give 
Ellen  Grant  lessons." 

I  said  this  innocently  enough,  but  Betsey  resented  it  in  a 
minute. 

"I  shan't  ask  Mr.  Bird  nor  anybody  else  to  read  our  pri- 
vate letters  for  us  as  long  as  I've  got  my  own  eyes  and  wits 
about  me,"  she  said,  sharply,  and  I  knew  'twas  no  use  to 
say  anything  more,  so  I  ju3t  sat  down  to  keep  Rache  com- 
pany while  Betsey  went  off  to  hunt  up  the  dictionary. 

She  was  gone  all  of  an  hour,  and  when  she  did  come 
back  her  face  was  almost  as  pale  as  Rache's,  and  her  voice 
trembled,  although  she  had  evidently  braced  herself  up  for 
the  task  before  her. 

"It's  no  use  to  hide  the  truth  from  you,  Rache,  and  I 
hope  you'll  try  to  bear  it  like  a  Christian  woman.  That 
letter  was  from  one  of  the  French  doctors   in   the   hospital, 


BETSEY  :   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  311 

and  he  says  that  Paul  caught  the  fever  from  some  of  the  pa- 
tients there,  and  that  he  is — dead." 

"Dead — dead — dead." 

Rache  repeated  the  words  over  and  over  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  a  way.  looking  helplessly  all  the  time  from  Betsey  to  me, 
then,  all  at  once,  as  the  full  meaning  of  her  sister's  words 
seemed  to  strike  her,  she  clapped  both  hands  over  her  heart 
with  a  cry  of  such  utter  despair  that  it  seemed  to  me  for  the 
moment  that  her  very  life  must  have  gone  out  with  it,  while 
she  moaned,  between  her  white,  quivering  lips  :  — 

"Paul  dead!     Parted  forever  !" 

"Don't  Rache,  dear!  Don't  take  on  so  about  it.  Try 
to  say  'Thy  will  be  done',  like  a  good  child,  now." 

The  tears  were  streaming  down  Betsey's  cheeks,  and 
there  was  a  look  of  womanly  sympathy  in  her  brimming 
eyes,  as  she  bent  over  the  convulsed  and  shuddering  form 
that  had  crouched  down  in  her  chair  in  the  complete  aban- 
donment of  an  over-whelming  grief. 

This  was  a  sorrow  that  she  could  understand  and  sympa- 
thize with,  while  the  idea  of  a  life-long  estrangement  be- 
tween the  two  had  seemed  to  her  a  very  foolish  thing  to 
grieve  about.  That  her  sympathy  now  was  genuine  no- 
body could  doubt,  and  yet  she  could  not  forget  herself  en- 
tirely, even  now,  as  I  found  when,  leaving  Rache  to  herself 
for  a  time,  as  she  begged  us  to  do,  we  were  alone  for  a 
minute  in  the  entry,  and  Betsey,  wiping  her  eyes  compos- 
edly, whispered,  with  an  air  of  resignation  touching  to  wit- 
ness : — 

"It's  a  dreadful  thing  and  I'm  sorry  for  Rache's  sake, 
but  don't  it  seem  wonderful'  now  just  to  see  how  Provi- 
dence has  interfered  and  taken  this  trial  out  of  my  path?'' 

I  was  crying  like  a  great  baby,   but  for  the  life  of  me  I 


312      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

couldn't  let  this   chance  pass   of  giving  Betsey    a   hit,  and 
says  I : — 

"Yon  make  me  think  of  old  Jake  Todd,  who  used  to 
say  that  whenever  he  saw  a  ring  round  the  moon  he  knew 
that  some  of  his  family  would  cut  a  finger  or  two  before  the- 
week  was  out." 

She  didn't  make  any  answer,  only  looked  at  me  suspic- 
iously for  a  moment  before  she  went  away  to  tell  her  bad 
news  to  the  rest  of  the  family. 

Now,  I  suppose  if  I  had  asked  her  in  plain  words : 
"Betsey  Rice,  do  you  believe  that  God  let  Paul  Westlake 
die  just  to  keep  him  from  marrying  your  sister  against 
your  wishes  ?"  she  would  have  denied  it ;  been  mad  with  me 
probably  for  saying  such  a  thing,  and  yet  that  was  her 
idea  after  all.  You  see  she  had  got  into  such  a  habit  of 
looking  upon  herself  as  the  "hub"  in  her  domestic  and  so- 
cial life  that  she  thought  herself  of  the  same  importance 
in  her  Maker's  sight  as  she  was  in  her  own. 

After  that  poor  Rache  gave  up  entirely.  She  just 
drooped  and  wilted  like  a  frost-bitten  flower,  never  com- 
plaining, seldom  speaking  of  her  sorrow,  but  fadiug  day  by 
day,  till  everybody,  even  her  own  family,  who  were  the  last 
to  believe  it,  felt  sure  that  her  days,  were  numbered  and 
that  she  never  would  live  to  see  the  trees  in  leaf  again. 

The  old  doctor  who  had  known  her  ever  since  she  was  a 
baby  shook  his  gray  head  mournfully,  and  there  were 
tears  in  his  grave  eyes  when  he  told  them  honestly  that  he 
could  do  nothing  more  for  her — that  her  case  was  beyond 
his  skill. 

But  they  couldn't  give  her  up  so,  and  Father  Rice  sent  to 
the  city  for  a  doctor  that  had  the  name  of  almost  bringing 
the  dead  to  life  again — and  he  came,  and  he  looked  at  her 
tongue,  and  felt  her  pulse,  and  put  his  ear  to  her  side  to  see 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER  S  SECRET.  313 

if  her  heart  beat  right,  and  questioned  her  about  her  symp- 
toms, and  when  he  heard  that  she  didn't  have  any  pain  or 
cough,  but  just  grew  weaker  every  day.  he  looked  rather 
contemptuous  and  muttered  something  about  "lack  of  en- 
ergy"  and  •  -nervous  prostration."  But  he  left  her  some 
medicine  and  recommended  her  to  try  out  of  door  exercise 
every  pleasant  day.  and  to  keep  her  mind  cheerful  and  act- 
ive. 

So  she  tried  the  going  out  to  ride,  but  before  they  could 
get  her  to  the  door  she  fainted  dead  away,  and  that  was 
the  last  of  her  ;,out  of  door  exercise.*'  As  for  the  ••cheerful 
mind"  that  the  doctor  prescribed,  all  the  medicine  in  the 
world  couldn't  give  her  that,  at  any  rate  his  didn't,  and 
she  failed  faster  after  his  visit  than  she  did  before. 

It  was  a  cold  winter's  morning — so  cold  that  I  shivered 
all  over  as  I  stood  outside  the  door  long  enough  to  sweep 
the  snow  off  the  steps,  so  I  was  a  little  surprised  when  a 
shadow  fell  across  my  broom  handle,  and  I  looked  up  to 
see  Jack  Rice's  tall  figure  close  to  my  elbow. 

••"Why.  Jack."  I  laughed,  '-you  almost  frightened  me.  I 
didn't  even  hear  you,  still  I  saw   your   shadow.    How  is — " 

But  I  didn't  finish  the  sentence,  for  a  second  look  at 
Jack's  troubled  face  told  me  that  his  errand  was  no  pleasant 
one.  and  I  forgot  the  cold  and  my  own  uncovered  head  as 
I  listened  to  the  hastily  spoken  words  : — 

••They  want  you  to  come  over  to  our  house  just  as  soon 
as  you  can.  They  don't  think  that  Rache — "  he  stopped _ 
trying  hard  to  gulp  down  the  grief  that  would  come  upper- 
most, while  two  great  tears  rolled  down  his  rough  cheeks 
which  he  wiped  off  with  the  back  of  one  mittened  hand  as 
he  finished  the  sentence  with  an  effort — "will  live  through 

the  day." 
21 


314     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

You  may  guess  that  I  wasn't  loug  in  answering  to  the 
call,  and  I  never  shall  forget  to  rny  dying  day  how  dreary 
and  desolate  the  big  old  kitchen  looked  that  morning  when 
I  went  into  it.  Father  Rice  sat  at  one  side  of  the  fire-place 
his  head  resting  against  the  jamb  and  his  face  hidden  be- 
hind one  of  the  rough,  toil-hardened  hands  that  had  worked 
so  long  and  so  patiently  for  the  dear  ones  that  had  grown 
up  about  his  hearth-stone — a  hearth-stone  that  had  never  be- 
fore in  all  these  years  felt  the  chill  of  the  shadow  of  death 
upon  it  until  now  ;  the  table  with  the  untasted  breakfast 
still  upon  it  was  pushed  back  against  the  wall,  while  Rache's 
pet  kitten  was  helping  herself  from  the  cream  pitcher  from 
which  nobody  had  the  heart  to  drive  her  away. 

The  boys  nodded  silently  as  I  came  in,  but  their  father 
never  lifted  his  head  or  noticed  me  in  any  way,  and  hearing 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Bird  in  prayer  in  Rache's  room,  I  stood 
for  a  moment  outside  till  the  sound  ceased,  and  then  I  went 
in. 

The  sick  girl  was  lying  propped  up  by  pillows,  her  eyes 
closed  and  her  breathing  so  faint  that  it  scarcely  stirred 
the  snowy  folds  above  her  breast,  while  the  little,  white, 
thin  hands  resting  upon  the  counterpane,  were  as  nerveless 
and  still  as  if  moulded  in  snow. 

Betsey  stood  by  the  bed's  head  fanning  her,  while  the 
mother  with  her  face  buried  in  the  bed  clothes  sobbed  pit- 
eously,  unheeding  Polly's  distressful  whisper  : — 

Don't,  mother  !  Don't  cry  so,  perhaps  she  can  hear 
you,"  or  the  young  pastor's  consolatory  words  : — 

"The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away,  Blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

Suddenly  a  step — not  the  mullled  step  of  any  in  that 
mourning  household,  but  a  firm,  free,  manly  tread  sounded 
upon  the  kitchen  floor,  a  confused  murmur  of  voices  reached 


BETSEY  ;  OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET.  815 

our  startled  ears,  and  as  we  turned  to  look,  there,  upon  the 
threshold,  a  little  paler  and  thinner  than  when  we  saw  him 
last,  but  alive  and  well  once  more  stood  Paul  Westlake. 

Betsey  gave  a  little  cry  and  hid  ber  face  in  her  hands, 
but  Paul  took  no  notice  of  any  of  us  as  he  walked  with  a 
pale  cheek  but  with  a  firm  step  to  the  bedside,  and  bend- 
ing over  the  unconscious  girl  pressed  one  long,  lingering 
kiss  upon  her  white  lips. 

In  an  instant  the  blue  eyes  unclosed  and  a  look  of  joy- 
ous recognition  flashed  like  sunshine  over  the  pale  face, 
while  from  the  lips  that  we  had  believed  silent  forever  fell 
in  a  soft  but  perfectly  distinct  murmur  :  — 

"Dear  Paul !     I  have  come  to  you  at  last." 

"She  thinks  she  is  dead,  and  that  this  meeting  is  in 
another  world,"  whispered  the  awe-struck  pastor,  and  in- 
stantly comprehending  the  idea,  Paul  gathered  the  frail 
form  for  a  moment  in  his  own  strong  arms,  while  he  an- 
swered in  his  strong,  cheery  tones  : — 

"No,  my  darling,  it  is  /who  have  come  back  to  you." 

A  look  of  bewilderment  clouded  the  girl's  clear  eyes  as 
her  dulled  faculties  rallied  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  his 
words,  and  she  glanced  doubtfully  from  his  loving,  hopeful 
face  to  the  tearful,  anxious  countenances  around  her,  then 
as  if  comprehending  the  whole  meaning  of  the  scene,  a 
faint  color  crept  to  the  pale  cheek,  and  with  a  smile  of  the 
most  perfect  contentment  and  trust  she  nestled  closer  to  his 
breast,  while  her  eyes  closed  in  a  sleep,  restful  and  calm  — 
such  a  sleep  as  had  not  visited  her  weary  eyelids  for  many 
a  long  week ,  and  which  Paul  afterwards  declared  was  bet- 
ter for  her  than  all  the  medicine  in  the  world. 

Of  course  everybody  was  incredulous  at  first,  and  pre- 
dicted that  when  the  excitement  was  over  she  would  "sink 
again."     But  Paul  took  care  of  that.     To  be  sure,  her  get- 


316  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHOERS  OF  MAINE. 

ting  about  again  was  rather  a  slow  affair  :  but  skill  and  af- 
fection together  can  work  miracles,  and  one  by  one  the 
dimples  came  back  to  Rache's  thin  cheeks,  while  the  glad 
heart  within  went  far  towards  giving  strength  to  the  feeble 
body,  until  the  June  roses,  that  blossomed  out  just  in  time 
for  the  bridal  wreath,  were  scarcely  brighter  than  the  blush- 
ing face  beneath  them. 

There's  but  little  more  to  tell,  for  you  know  yourself 
that  there  isn't  a  man  in  the  county  more  loved  and  respected 
than  Dr.  Westlake  ;  but  you'd  scarcely  think  now,  to  see 
Mrs.  Westlake  with  her  plump  figure,  and  rosy,  matronly 
face,  keeping  watch  and  ward,  with  a  firm  but  gentle  hand 
over  her  great  family  of  bright  eyed  boys  and  girls,  that 
she  was  the  shy,  faint-hearted  girl  whom  Paul  Westlake's 
strong  hand  once  brought  back  from  the  very  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death. 

Ah,  well!  we  never  know  what  these  human  buds  will 
blossom  into,  and — why.  didn't  I  tell  you  about  that  letter? 
I  thought  I  did.  Why,  you  see  when  Paul  found  he'd 
got  the  fever  he  gave  the  surgeon  who  tended  him  Rache's 
address,  with  directions  in  case  of  his  death  to  write  her 
the  particulars.  He  was  so  sick  that  they  thought  he  couldn't 
live,  and  the  kind-hearted  Frenchman  thought  it  best  to 
prepare  his  friends  for  the  worst,  so  he  wrote  the  letter  that 
Betsey  tried  to  translate,  and,  somehow  or  other,  made  the 
mistake  of  reading  it  that  he  was  dead  instead  of  danger- 
ously sick,  as  the  surgeon  had  written  it. 

That's  how  the  mistake  was  made,  but  Betsey  was  dread- 
fully "cut  up"  about  it,  and  you  couldn't  say  "French"  before 
her,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  that  she  didn't  color  up  like  a 
boiled  lobster.  She  lived  to  be  very  proud  of  her  popular 
brother-in-law,  and  when,   the  night  before   she   died,   the 


BETSEY  ;   OR  THE  SCHOOL-MASTER'S  SECRET. 


317 


news  came  that  he  was  elected  to  the  Legislature,  she  said 
to  me,  (I  was  watching  with  her)  : — 

"Paul  Westlake  may  thank  me  for  this  for  I've  always 
stood  his  friend,  and  I  don't  doubt  that  I've  been  the  means 
of  his  getting  many  a  vote  that  he  wouldn't  otherwise  have 
had." 

Betsey  was  Betsey  to  the  last. 


pu(;K  19  t^  pulpit. 


PUCK    IN*    THE    PULPIT  321 


PUCK  IS  THE  PULPIT. 

The  church  door  creaked  solemnly  upon  its  hinges,    as 
church  doors  have  a  habit  of  doing,  and  the  faint  rustle  of 
feminine  garments  gave  the  signal  for  every  head  in    the 
congregation  to  turn  curiously  toward  the  entrance,  and  as 
manv  pairs  of  eyes  to  take  a  swift  but  comprehensive  sur- 
vev  of  the  dainty  little  figure,  whose  rosy  face  grew  a  shade 
rosier,  although   the  small  head  assumed  an  air  of  jaunty, 
half-unconscious  dignity,  as  its  owner  flitted   up  the  aisle. 
and  stood  demurely  waiting  for  a  moment  at  the  door  of  one 
of   the    square,    old-fashioned    pews,    until    good    Deacon 
Stinchfield  should  so  far  awake  from  his  pious  abstraction 
as  to  notice  her  presence  and  open  the  door  far  enough  to 
allow  her  the   privilege   of  crushing  her  new  overskirt    be- 
tween his  pepper-and-salt  covered  knees  and  the  pew  front. 
There  was  a  little  unavoidable  stir,  of  course,  as  the  new- 
comer seated  herself,  and  just  then  the  young  minister  rose 
to  place  his  open   Bible  upon  the  desk  before  him,  and  as 
almost  anv  man  would  have  done,   glanced   carelessly  for 
an  instant'at  the  cloud  of  fluttering  blue  drapery  in  the  dea- 
con's seat  beneath  :   and  again,    as   any  man   would  have 
done,  at  the   sweet  girlish   face,    flushed   a   little    still,    and 
wearing  a  look  about  the  rosy  lips  that  was  just  a  bewitch- 
ing compromise  between  a  pout  and  a  laugh  ;  while  the  blue 
eyes,  a  perfect  match  for  the  dress,   looked  up  into  his  own 
with  an  innocent  surprise  not  unmixed  with  satisfaction. 


322   RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Any  change  from  Parson  Longbow's  dry,  doctrinal  es- 
says was  desirable,  and  the  little  maiden  in  blue  was  not 
the  only  one  who  looked  with  a  feeling  of  pleased  expectancy 
at  the  strong  yet  intellectual  face  of  the  stranger,  as,  in  a 
clear,  manly  voice,  he  commenced  reading  the  scriptural  se- 
lections for  the  occasion  : — 

"  'I  am  come  into  my  garden,  my  sister,  my  spouse  :  I 
have  gathered  my  myrrh  with  my  spice.'  " 

Slowly,  reverently  he  repeated  the  sacred  words,  with  a 
keen  appreciation  of  their  poetic  beauty  that  lent  an  uncon- 
scious softness  to  his  voice,  as,  glancing  downward  for  a 
single  second,  he  caught  the  look  from  a  pair  of  upturned 
eyes  that  had  in  them,  just  now,  an  expression  more  mis- 
chievous than  saintly,  while  some  irreverent  elf  seemed  to 
jog  his  elbow  and  whisper  in  his  startled  ear  a  decidedly  sec- 
ular rendering  of  the  sacred  passage  : — 

"Come  into  the  garden,  Maud, 

I  am  here  at  the  gate  alone; 
And  the  woodbine  spices  are  wafted  abroad  ; 

And  the  musk  of  the  roses  blown." 

A  guilty  flush  crept  to  his  forehead,  while  conscience  gave 
him  a  smart  rap  with  her  ever  ready  baton  that  again  un- 
loosed his  tongue,  and  enabled  him  to  read,  with  a  solemn 
distinctness  that  to  his  abashed  and  shame  stricken  soul  had 
in  it  a  ring  of  something  almost  farcical : — 

"  'She  shall  be  brought  to  the  king  in  raiment  of  needle- 
work.' " 

Something  blue,  with  a  downy,  cloud-like  border,  flut- 
tered tantalizingly  between  his  eyes  and  the  sacred  page, 
but  he  read  bravely  on  : — 

••  'Thou  art  beautiful,  O  my  love,  as  Tirzah,  comely  as 
Jerusalem.  Thy  lips  are  like  a  thread  of  scarlet,  and  thou 
hast  dove's  eyes  between  thy  locks.  Turn  away  thine  eyes 
from  me,  for  they  have  overcome  me.'  " 


PUCK    IN    THE    PULPIT.  323 

There  must  have  been  a  secret  significance  in  this  appeal 
that  made  itself  felt,  unconsciously,  perhaps,  by  one  at 
least  of  his  flock,  for  the  blue  eyes  in  the  deacon's  pew 
drooped  beneath  their  snowy  lids,  and  a  repentant  quiver 
disturbed  the  dimples  about  the  rosy  mouth,  as,  forgetful  of 
all  but  the  sacred  majesty  of  the  throne  to  which  he  now 
appealed,  the  young  preacher  stood,  with  reverent  mien 
and  face  that  seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  whatever  of 
earthiness  yet  clung  to  it,  as  he  pleaded  humbly,  yet  with 
the  eloquence  of  an  earnest,  man  loving  soul,  that  the  God 
of  their  fathers  would  bless  and  strengthen  this  branch  of 
His  holy  church. 

He  was  an  honest  man  and  an  upright,  this  young 
preacher,  a  faithful,  diligent  laborer  in  his  Lord's  vineyard; 
but  (I  use  the  doubtful  conjunction  in  deference  to  some 
possibly  particular  reader)  he  had  the  eye  of  an  artist  with 
the  soul  of  a  poet,  and  with  that  sweet,  tempting,  girlish 
face  beneath  his  very  eye,  and  the  elfish  tormentor  that,  iu 
his  desperation,  he  stigmatized  as  the  Prince  of  Evil  him- 
self, assaulting  him  with  half- forgotten  scraps  of  poetry  not 
to  be  found  in  the  hymn  book,  and  never-before-thought-of 
bits  of  dainty  imagery  from  the  depths  of  his  own  sorely 
perturbed,  yet  guiltily  delighted  heart,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
he  actually  trembled  as  the  choir  sang  the  last  verse  of  the 
opening  hymn,  and  he  knew  that  in  a  moment  more  he  mast 
stand  up  before  that  people  as  an  expounder  of  God's  word, 
while  his  own  weak  human  heart  wa^,  as  he  painfully  real- 
ized, far  beyond  his  control. 

For  a  moment  his  head  was  bowed  in  silent,  earnest 
prayer  for  help,  and  when  he  once  more  faced  his  people, 
there  was  a  firm  look  about  the  clear  cut  lips,  as,  in  simple, 
yet  rarely  beautiful  phrase,  he  depicted  the  love  of  Christ 
for  His  church,  the  tender  unforgetfulness,   the  loving   lor- 


324      RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

bearance,  to  which  only  the  purest,  highest  type  of  human 
love  can  even  compare ;  while  with  a  reverential  tenderness 
that  sent  a  magnetic  thrill  to  the  heart  of  many  a  callous 
sinner  and  world-hardened  Christian,  he  spoke  of  the  pa- 
tient long-suffering,  the  ever  ready  forgiveness  of  that  often- 
neglected,  often  slighted  One  who  ever  waits  with  dew  wet 
locks  and  outstretched,  bleeding  hands  for  the  first  word, 
the  first  tear  even  of  repentant  love,  to  extend  anew  his  for- 
giveness and  trust. 

And  as  the  blessed  truths  fell  from  his  lips  the  young 
preacher  felt  his  own  soul  strengthened  and  refreshed.  The 
blue  eyes  still  looked  up  into  his  own,  no  longer  curious  or 
mischievous,  but  softened  and  tearful  with  emotion  ;  no 
longer  a  distraction,  but  an  inspiration  that  lent  both  power 
and  beauty  to  the  words  upon  his  lips. 

The  services  were  concluded,  and  the  minister  stood  in 
the  shadow  of  the  tall  pulpit,  drawing  on  overcoat  and 
gloves  with  a  slow,  mechanical  exactness,  while  he  furtively 
watched,  over  the  head  of  Deacon  Stinchfield,  who  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar  stairs  patiently  awaiting  his  coming,  a 
girlish  figure  that,  floating  down  the  aisle,  jostled  and  over- 
topped by  the  taller  and  less  tastefully  attired  farmer's  wives 
and  daughters,  made  him  think  of  a  bright  faced  pansy  in 
a  tangle  of  buttercups,  and  he  started  half-guiltily  as  the 
good  deacon's  voice  met  his  ear  : — 

"You  give  us  a  dretful  good  sermon  this  time,  elder,  an' 
one  that  deserves  a  good  dinner  ;  so  if  you'll  just  come 
along  with  me  I'll  see't  you  have  it." 

The  deacon  laughed  a  little  at  the  conclusion  of  his  hos- 
pitable speech,  but  there  was  something  deeper  than  mirth 
in  his  honest  eyes  as  he  added  in  a  lower  tone  than  usual : — 
"I  tell  you  that's    the   sort  of  a   sermon  that  does   folks 
good — a  sermon  that  comes  straight  from  an'  goes  straight 


•A  long  walk  t'"r  Rose,  such  a  cold  day  as  ibis  i.- 


PUCK    IN    THE    FULPIT.  325 

to  a  man's  heart.  Why.  it's  warmed  up  the  frosty  corners 
of  my  old  heart  wonderful,  au',  if  you'll  believe  it,  I  tuned 
up  in  that  last  hymn  an'  sung  it  right  through,  a  thing  I 
ain't  done  afore  these  ten  year." 

The  minister  smiled.  The  old  man's  cordial  approval  of 
his  sermon  heartened  him  up  wonderfully,  and  he  began  to 
think  that  the  work  might  be  blessed  after  all,  even  if  the 
workman's  hand  was  grimy  from  contact  with  the  common 
things  of  earth. 

Just  then  a  merry  jingle  of  sleigh-bells  warned  them  to 
step  aside  into  the  untrodden  snow,  while  a  sleigh  full  of 
cloaked  and  hooded  girls  dashed  past,  and  seated  on  the 
front  seat  beside  the  driver,  a  tall,  stalwart  young  country- 
man, was  the  deacon's  pretty  pew-fellow,  her  girlish  face  all 
aglow  with  the  frosty  air  and  the  exhilarating  drive,  while 
the  dainty  down-bordered  cape  seemed  to  have  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  rough  sleeve  of  her  companion's  over- 
coat— too  near  the  minister  thought,  and  he  frowned  invol- 
untarily as  the  deacon  said  good-naturedly  : — 

"I'm  glad  Xate  Buck  thought  to  offer  Rose  Mayberry  a 
ride  in  his  cutter  :  for  it's  a  long  walk  to  her  home  such  a 
cold  day  as  'tis  ter-day." 

"Kose  Mayberry  I"  The  minister  liked  pretty  names, 
and  this  seemed  remarkably  appropriate  he  thought  :  but 
he  only  asked  in  an  indifferent  tone  : — 

•'Is  that  the  name  of  the  young  lady  in  blue?" 

The  deacon  stared.  He  was  evidently  bewildered  at  the 
young  man's  description 

"Well,  ye — s,  I  s'pose  so.  She  don't  seem  nothin'  but  a 
little  gal  ter  me,  and — I  guess  her  gown  ivas  blue,  come 
ter  think  on't.  At  any  rate,  she's  the  one  that  sot  in  my 
pew.     P'raps  you  noticed  her  there  ?" 

••Yes." 


326    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

That  was  very  meekly  spoken,  for  the  speaker's  heart 
was  full  of  shame  and  contrition  as  he  thought  how  he,  the 
very  priest  at  the  altar,  had  so  far  stooped  from  his  high  and 
holy  calling  as  to  take  note  of  a  pretty  face  and  dress,  even 
in  the  midst  of  his  solemn  duties,  and  he  fancied  that  even 
the  good  deacon  seemed  a  little  constrained  and  ceremonious 
as  he  ushered  him  into  the  "front  room"  of  his  comfortable 
mansion,  and  after  bidding  him  sit  down  an'  make  himself 
terhome,  went  in  search  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  who, 
having  ridden  home,  were  already  busy  in  active  prepara- 
tions for  the  entertainment  of  their  expected  guest. 

'-How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Eldon  ?— It's  an  awful  cold  clay  ! 
Do  set  up  nigher  the  fire,  an'  let  me  get  you  somethin'  hot 
— a  cup  of  weak  ginger  tea,  now,  with  milk  an'  sugar  in  it, 
is  so  warmin'  after  a  cold  walk.  No  ?  Well,  do  let  me 
take  your  overcoat  an'  hat.  Here,  Abigail !  Mr.  Eldon, 
shall  I  make  you  acquainted  with  my  daughter  Abigail? 
Abigail,  do  put  another  stick  o'  wood  on  that  fire.  Seems  ter 
me  the  chill  ain't  fairly  off  of  the  room  yet,  for  all  we  built 
a  fire  in  here  before  eight  o'clock  this  mornin'.  Deacon, 
do  take  Mr.  Eldon's  things  an'  hang  'em  up  in  the  entry 
closet.  Well,  Mr.  Eldon,  you  give  us  an  excellent  sermon 
this  mornin',  if  I  do  say  it— an  excellent  sermon,  one 
that  '11  be  remembered  too." 

Here  Mrs.  Stinchfield  stopped  to  take  breath,  and  Abi- 
gail, a  dejected-looking  damsel,  with  downcast  eyes  and  a 
timid  nervous  manner,  remarked  under  her  breath  that  the 
"parish  needed  &  minister  very  much." 

And  Mrs.  8.,  having  taken  time  to  "steam  up,"  caught 
at  the  idea  and  was  off  again  : — 

"Yes,  that  they  do  you'd  better  believe.  After  old  Elder 
Parsons  was  turned  out  ter  grass,  or  what's  the  same  thing, 
sent  off  as  a  home  missionary,  we  had  Elder   Smart,   an' 


PUCK    IN    THE    PULPIT.  327 

part  o'  the  church  thought  the  sun  riz  in  the  heels  of  his 
boots  ;  an'  'tother  part  didn't,  an'  so,  'fore  long,  he  thought 
'twas  best  ter  leave  ;  an'  then  Elder  Barton  tried  it,  but 
folks  found  so  much  fault  with  'is  wife  'cause  she  wore  four 
ruffles  on  'er  dress  an'  kep'  a  hired  girl  all  the  time,  that  he 
wouldn't  stay,  an'  here  we've  been  dependin'  for  the  last 
year  on  old  Parson  Longbow  from  the  Cross  Corners,  with 
a  stray  student,  now  an'  then,  from  the  Seminary.  Now  I 
do  hope,  Mr.  Eldon,  that  you'll  turn  out  ter  be  the  right 
man  in  the  right  place." 

The  deacon  and  his  daughter  echoed  the  wish,  and  the 
young  minister  himself  modestly  acquiesced,  remarking, 
with  a  touch  of  ministerial  dignity  in  tone  and  manner,  that 
he  hoped  iv  her  ever  he  might  be,  that  it  might  be  the  right 
place  for  him  ;  while  the  deacon  gravely  quoted  from  his  bib- 
lical store,  ''All  my  steps  are  ordered  by  thee,"  whereat 
Abigail  looked  apprehensive  and  her  mother  sternly  inflex- 
ible. 

'•There's  some  things,"  continued  the  deacon,  emboldened 
by  his  wife's  unwonted  silence  to  take  a  part  in  the  conver- 
sation, ''that  it's  dretful  hard  to  find  out  what  really  is  or- 
dered as  to  'em.  There's  marry  in'  an'  giviu'  in  marriage, 
for  instance  :  now,  you  don't  want  ter  force  a  child's  feel- 
ings in  such  a  matter — " 

"Deacon  !"  interrupted  his  wife,  warningly. 

••But,  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  you  see,  just  as  plain 
as  day,  yerself,  that  she's  particularly  fitted  for  a  perticular 
place  that  she  can't  fill  if  she  marries  the  one  she's  sot  on 
havin'  an'  that  wants — " 

••Deacon!" 

The  warning  was  more  sharply  spoken  than  before,  and 
the  poor  deacon  colored  and  stammered  like  an  embarrassed 
school-boy. 


328      RE-TOLD  TALES  OE  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"He's  always  gettin'  up  some  sech  i?naginary  case  jest 
for  the  sake  of  an  argyment,"  explained  the  lady,  with  an 
indulgent  nod  in  the  direction  of  her  discomfited  spouse.  '-I 
always  tell  him  there's  real  fences  enough  ter  climb  over  in 
the  course  of  a  life-time  without  troublin'  himself  with  im- 
aginary ones." 

"Very  true,"  assented  the  minister,  guardedly,  for  one 
glance  at  poor  Abigail's  conscious  face  was  enough  to  make 
transparent  her  mother's  flimsy  subterfuge,  and  a  feeling  of 
kindly  interest  suddenly  sprung  up  in  the  young  man's  heart 
— an  interest  that  all  the  poor  girl's  awkward  attempts  at 
agreeableness  could  never  have  awakened. 

It  was  evident  that  the  deacon's  daughter,  plain  and  un- 
romantic  as  she  seemed,  was  meekly  trying,  with  all  her 
woman's  strength,  to  sing  her  psalm  of  life  in  spite  of  the 
constant  drizzle  of  parental  disapproval,  and  Maurice  El- 
don's  chivalrous  soul  was  up  in  arms  at  once  in  behalf  of 
the  evidently  oppressed  damsel. 

"This  is  Jotham  Springer,  Mr.  Eldon — a  young  man 
that  I  brought  up  from  a  boy,"  remarked  the  deacon,  as 
they  sat  down  to  dinner.  And  Mr.  Eldon  looked  into  the 
face  opposite  him  at  the  table— a  rough,  sunburned,  yet 
manly  face,  that  flushed  still  deeper  as  its  owner  shyly  ac- 
knowledged the  deacon's  off-handed  introduction  with  a 
gruff  "Hope  ter  see  yer  well,  sir!"  and  immediately  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  business  of  the  occasion  with  a  steady 
devotion  that  left  him  little  leisure  to  join  in  the  table  talk 
that  Mr.  Eldon  found  quite  as  amusing  as  profitable. 

He  was,  or  ought  to  have  been  edificed  by  Mrs.  Stinch- 
field's  plainly  expressed  opinion  that  it  was  a  "minister's 
duty  to  marry,"  as  well  as  her  conviction  that  "if  it  could 
be  brought  about,  'twas  a  great  deal  better  to  marry  in  than 
out  of  his   own  parish,"  to  which    the  minister   assented, 


PUCK    IN    THE    ITLl'lT.  329 

rather  sheepishly,  it  must  be  confessed,  as  he  caught  a 
o-learn  of  fun  from  Jotham's  watchful  eyes,  and  felt  uncom- 
fortably conscious  that  his  would-be  monitress  was  making 
him  decidedly  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  this  silent  but  evi- 
dently wide-awake  personage. 

That  night  on  their  way  home  from  the  evening  service, 
the  deacon  took  occasion  to  remark,  guardedly,  that  there 
was  ''to  be  a  church  meetin'  Monday  night,"  and  "  'twouldn't 
be  at  all  surprisin'  if  they  should  conclude  ter  give  some- 
body a  pretty  strong  call,"  a  prophecy  that  soon  proved 
itself,  for.  before  the  Christmas  holidays  were  quite  over. 
Maurice  Eldon  was  fairly  installed  as  pastor  of  the  long 
pastorless  church,  and  an  inmate  for  the  present  of  the  hos- 
pitable deacon's  well-ordered  household. 

Of  course  the  young  minister's  first  duty  was  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  his  flock  individually,  and  here  his 
host's  ever  ready  horse  and  sleigh  were  brought  into  requi- 
sition, and  with  Miss  Abigail  as  a  guide  he  drove  across 
the  wide,  snow-covered  levels,  where  the  eye  was  dazzled 
and  delighted  by  long  reaches  of  white,  glistening  snow, 
that  shone  beneath  the  eye  of  the  midday  sun  like  the  face 
of  Israel's  deliverer  as  he  came  forth  from  the  presence  of 
his  God  :  up  and  down  the  pine-crowned  hills,  where  sturdy 
evergreens  stood  calmly  looking  sky-ward,  unmindful  of 
the  winter's  chill  winding-sheet  beneath  ;  to  the  scattered, 
outlying  farm-houses,  where  genial  smiles  and  a  hearty,  if 
homely  greeting,  were  always  ready  for  the  new  minister, 
who  seemed  somehow  to  have  found  a  warm  corner  in  every 
heart  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  parish. 

But  far  more  precious  than  this  personal  popularity  to  the 
heart  of  the  young  preacher  was   the  evident  spiritual  im- 
provement of  his  people. 
22 


330     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

Old  grudges  were  laid  aside,  old  enemies  reconciled,  old 
rivalries  forgotten,  and  brother  met  brother  with  outstretched 
hand  and  friendly  word,  strewing  the  sweet  flowers  of  Chris- 
tian charity  over  the  graves  of  all  old  enmities,  and  ear- 
nestly striving,  each  in  his  own  way  to  be  a  helper  and 
friend  to  the  church  and  to  his  fellow-men. 

Miss  Abigail  had  really  brightened  up  considerably,  and 
when  out  from  under  her  mother's  sharp  eye,  she  sometimes 
indulged  in  a  burst  of  girlish  enthusiasm  that  would  have 
astonished  any  one  who  had  only  seen  her  in  her  cramped 
and  contracted  home  orbit. 

"Mr.  Eldon,"  she  said  to  him  confidentially,  as  they 
started  off  one  morning  on  their  calling  tour,  "I  suppose  it 
will  be  proper  to  call  at  Deacon  Parmeter's  and  Squire 
Holden's  and  old  Cap'n  Lovell's  first,  and  then  I  want  to 
take  you  to  see  two  of  the  sweetest,  dearest,  very  best  peo- 
ple in  the  whole  parish." 

The  minister  laughed.  "Of  course  nothing  could  give 
me  greater  pleasure  ;  but  who  are  these  paragons  of  yours?" 
"Only  an  old  lady  and — I  was  going  to  say  'a  little  girl ;' 
but,  I  declare  Rose  is  eighteen  next  month,  although  she  is 
such  an  innocent,  unaffected  little  thing  that  she  seems  even 
younger  than  that ;  and  her  grandmother,  old  Mrs .  May- 
berry,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  lovable  old  ladies 
that  ever  lived.  She  has  seen  better  days,  so  people  say, 
but  I  really  doubt  if  she  has  seen  happier  ones,  even  if  she 
is  lame  and  poor  and  old  ;  for  Rose  is  strength  and  wealth 
and  youth  to  her,  and  she  didn't  have  her  in  her  days  of 
plenty  if  she  had  everything  else." 

The  minister  only  nodded  in  reply,  and  his  companion, 
fearing  that  she  had  been  too  free-spoken  in  her  friend's 
praises,  grew  suddenly  silent,  although  she  did  not  fail  to 
notice  and  wonder  at  the  sudden  nervousness  displayed   by 


PUCK    IN    THE    PULPIT.  331 

one  who  had  seemed  so  perfectly  self-possessed  in  the  best 
parlors  of  the  best  houses  in  the  parish,  when,  on  alighting 
at  the  door  of  grandmother  Mayberry's  little  unpretentious 
cottage,  he  fidgeted  uneasily  with  the  fur  gauntlets  of  his 
riding  gloves  for  a  full  minute  before  knocking,  and  when 
Rose's  sweet  face  appeared,  with  its  smile  and  blush  of  wel- 
come, she  was  tempted  to  laugh  at  the  embarrassment  that 
showed  itself  both  in  look  and  tone  as  he  stammered  out  a 
few  hasty  words  of  greeting  so  different  from  his  naturally 
cordial  and  easy  spoken  manner. 

"Grandmother  will  be  delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Eldon," 
the  young  girl  said,  with  a  modest  self-possession  that  gave 
an  air  of  womanliness  to  her  girlish  face  and  figure,  as  she 
led  the  way  to  an  adjoining  room,  where,  comfortably  seated 
in  her  chintz  covered  rocking-chair  was  an  old  lady — I  use 
the  term  advisedly,  for  Mrs.  Mayberry  was  a  "lady"  from 
the  crown  of  silvery  hair,  smoothly  banded  above  the  placid 
forehead,  to  the  toe  of  the  neatly  slippered  foot  that  rested 
helplessly  upon  the  cushion  beneath,  and  the  young  man 
knew,  even  before  her  gentle,  cultured  tones  fell  upon  his 
ear,  that  here  was  a  woman,  delicate  and  refined,  and — with 
a  second  look  at  the  peaceful,  chastened  face — pure  in  heart 
as  in  word  and  deed. 

There  was  a  motherly  tenderness  in  her  manner  as  she 
laid  her  feeble  hand  impressively  upon  his  arm,  and  as  her 
clear,  calm  eyes  scanned  his  face,  she  remarked  with  that 
simple  directness  that  is  always  best  calculated  to  make  a 
stranger  forget  his  strangerhood  : — 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  ;  very  glad  as  well  as  grateful  for 
your  kindness  in  giving  us  such  an  early  call  when  there 
were  so  many  claimants  upon  your  time  and  attention." 

Then  passing  with  easy  facility  to  other  topics,  she  grad- 
ually drew  from  him  many  a  treasured  pearl  of  thought  and 


332     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF   31 A INK. 

fancy  that  had  hitherto  lain  unseen  waiting  for  the  sum- 
mons of  a  congenial  soul  ;  while  from  the  varied  stores  of 
her  own  strangely  disciplined  life  she  brought  forth  many  a 
wonderful  gem  of  comfort,  encouragement  and  hope. 

"I  have  suffered  many  things,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet, 
quaint  phraseology;  "the  loss  of  husband,  children,  friends 
and  fortune,  but  I  have  never  lost  my  trust  in  Him,  the 
giver  and  taker  of  all  my  blessings  ;  and  now.  in  my  old  age 
and  helplessness,  He  has  given  me  this  little  snug  home-nest 
and  my  own  baby's  baby  to  comfort  me  with  her  love  to  the 
last." 

An  arm  crept  tenderly  around  her  neck,  and  a  soft  tear- 
wet  cheek  was  pressed  lovingly  for  a  moment  against  her 
own.  There  was  no  need  of  words  ;  heart  answered  to 
heart,  and  the  aged  woman  was  comforted  and  the  younger 
strengthened  by  this  little  wordless  expression  of  mutual 
love  and  trust. 

It  was  a  beautiful  picture,  and  when  that  evening  the 
young  minister  read  the  chapter  for  family  devotions,  Abi- 
gail's womanly  shrewdness  was  quick  to  take  the  hint  when 
he  chose  the  touching  story  of  the  fair  Moabitess  and  her 
aged  friend,  while  pleasantly  abstracted,  she  recalled  the 
events  of  the  day  and  the  minister's  evident  interest  in  the 
inmates  of  the  little  cottage. 

"Rose  is  shy  and  don't  show  her  best  graces  of  heart 
and  mind  to  a  new  acquaintance,"  she  thought ;  "but  she 
is  always  at  home  with  us.  and  can  speak  freely  and 
without  restraint  ;  so  perhaps  it  will  be  best  to  have  her 
here  as  much  as  possible,  and  if — " 

••Forgive  all  our  vain  and  wandering  thoughts,"  prayed 
the  minister,  and  poor  Abigail  dropped  her  guilty  head  upon 
her  hands  and  tried  to  forget  all  about  Rose  Mayberry's 
possible  future  in  an  earnest,  silent  petition  for  the  patient 


PUCK    IN    THE    rULPIT. 


333 


endurance  of  which  her  own  sorely  tried  heart  stood  so 
much  in  need. 

That  was  a  happy  winter,  and  if  Mr.  Eldon  did  spend  a 
great  deal  of  his  leisure  at  the  Mayberry  cottage,  nobody 
wondered,  for  old  Mrs.  Mayberry  was  such  "pleasant  com- 
pany." and  besides,  Abigail  Stihchtield  was  almost  always 
with  him  on  these  occasions,  aud  public  opinion  had  already 
established  her  as  the  future  mistress  of  the  parsonage.  To 
be  sure,  there  were  some  who  hinted  that  "Jotham  Springer 
might  have  a  word  to  say  about  that,"  but  they  were 
frowned  down  by  the  more  knowing  part  of  the  community. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  raw  March  day,  and  Mr.  Eldon 
had  just  returned,  tired  in  body  and  mind,  from  along,  soli- 
tarv  drive  over  the  hills  to  visit  a  sick  parishioner,  and  as 
Ik*  rode  slowly  along  through  the  fast  gathering  twilight- 
shadows,  his  eyes  instinctively  turned  toward  the  bend  in 
the  road  just  beyond,  from  which  the  lighted  windows  of 
Mrs.  Mayberry's  c  ittage  always  looked  out  at  him  with  a 
gleam  of  friendly  welcome — a  welcome  that  had  never 
failed  him,  he  thought  gratefully,  as  across  the  cold  stretch 
of  snow  shone  a  tiny  ray  of  brightness,  that  somehow, 
while  it  reminded  him  of  Rose  Mayberry's  sunny  smile, 
made  him  forget  Mrs.  Stinchfield's  waiting  tea-table,  as 
making  his  way  up  the  snow-covered  path  he  knocked 
lightly  at  the  door  of  the  cottage. 

He  waited  shiveringly  beneath  the  sharp  wind  for  some 
moments,  but  no  one  answered  his  summons,  and  taking 
the  privilege  of  an  every-day  friend,  he  quietly  lifted  the 
latch  and  entered  the  little  kitchen,  warm,  lighted,  and  with 
the  daintily  spread  table  in  the  centre  of  the  Moor,  but  va- 
cant. A  murmur  of  voices  in  Mrs.  Mayberry's  sitting  room 
attracted  his  attention,  and  advancing,  he  stood  for  an  in- 
stant upon  the  threshold  of  the  open  door,   unseen  and  un- 


334    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

heard,  while  he  took  in  at  a  glance  the  full  beauty  of  the 
picture  before  him. 

Upon  the  low  cushion  at  her  grandmother's  feet  sat  the 
young  girl,  her  brown  hair  brightened  to  gold  in  the  fire- 
light, and  her  sweet  face  gravely  shy  as  she  said,  apparently 
in  reply  to  some  question  of  her  grandmother's  :  — 

"No,  grandma,  no;  so   don't   urge  me,    please;    I   have 
thought  it  over  and  over,  but  I  don't  and  I  can't  love  him." 
The  old  lady  smoothed  caressingly  the  soft  bands  above 
her  child's  forehead,  and  there  was  a  little  quaver  of  disap- 
pointment in  her  tones  as  she  said  hesitatingly  :  — 

'•I  always  thought  that — that  you  liked  him  very  much. 
He  is  a  good,  honest,  intelligent  man  ;  what  can  you  have 
against  him?" 
"Nothing." 

And  the  fair  forehead  grew  crimson  in  the  ruddy  light, 
while  a  regretful  look  saddened  for  a  moment  the  girlish 
face,  as  she  added  in  a  lower  tone  : — 

"I  did  like  him  very  much,  so  much  that  I  used  to  think, 
sometimes,  that  it  was  really  love,  especially  when  he  was 
so  kind  and  helpful  during  your  sickness  last  summer ;  and 
if  he  had  asked  me  then,  perhaps  I  should  have  answered 
him  differently  ;  but  now — " 

"What  has  changed  your  mind?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer.  The  girl's  face 
was  hiddeu  in  the  folds  of  her  grandmother's  dress,  while 
even  the  small  hands  that  rested  upon  her  lap  grew  red  with 
shame. 

k  'Do  you  remember,"  and  she  raised  her  head  with  an 
air  of  pretty  womanly  dignity,  as  if  deprecating  her  display 
of  childish  weakness  a  moment  before,  "the  first  sermon 
that  Mr.  Eldon  preached  for  us?  I  told  you  all  about  it 
when  I  came  home.     It  was  on   the  love  of  Christ  for  his 


PUCK    IN    THE    PULPIT.  335 

church,  and  he  compared  it  in  strength,  tenderness  and  en- 
tire unselfishness,  to  the  purest,  highest  type  of  earthly  love 
— the  love  that  God  himself  sanctioned  and  blessed  in  the 
beginning  when  the  world  was  new.  I  cannot  explain  it 
to  you,  to  myself,  even  ;  but  I  knew,  while  I  listened  to  his 
noble  conception  of  a  real,  true  earthly  love,  that  /  had 
never  before  known  even  the  meaning  of  the  word,  much 
less  its  power." 

"You  are  wiser  than  I  dreamed  little  one,"  and  as  she 
bent  to  kiss  the  rosy  lips  uplifted  to  her  own,  Mrs.  May- 
berry  met  the  eyes  in  the  door- way  fastened  upon  them  with 
a  look  she  could  not  fail  to  interpret ;  while,  unheeding  her 
startled  salutation,  the  young  man  stepped  hastily  forward, 
his  face  pale  with  emotion,  and  dropping  upon  his  knees  by 
the  girl's  side  drew  both  her   shrinking  hands  within    his 

own,  as  he  said,  wTith  a  manly  tenderness  that  was  in  itself 

the  best  declaration  of  his  love  : — 

"•Rose,   it   was  your  own   sweet  face  that  inspired   my 

tongue  at  that  time.     Will  you  be  my  inspiration  through 

life,  walking  hand-in-hand  with  me  to  do  our  Lord's  work 

by  proving  in  our  own  lives  that  'love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the 

law?'" 

Dear  little  Rose  !     She  had  learned  the  full  meaning  of 

that  sacred  word  now,  nor  was  she  ashamed  to  acknowledge 

its  power. 


"To  be  sure,  it's  a  family  matter,  but  it's  a  case  o'  con- 
science, too,  an'  Mis'  Stinchfield  an'  me  concluded  I'd  better 
talk  the  matter  over  with  you  an'  get  your  a-lvice  on't." 

The  deacon  was  evidently  embarrassed,  and  with  a  good- 
natured  desire  to  help  him  to  an  explanation,  Mr.  Eldon  re- 
marked encouragingly  : — 

"You  are  welcome  to  my  opinion,  such  as  it  is,  and  you 


"336     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

may  be  sure  that,  whatever   is  of  personal  concern   to  you 
cannot  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  me." 

"Yes  ;  no  doubt  on't,"  with  a  thoughtful  nod  of  his  griz- 
zled head  ;  then,  having  made  up  his  mind  for  the  plunge, 
he  added,  squarely  : — 

"You  see,  we've  been  to  a  deal  of  expense  in  time  and 
money  a'  givin'  our  daughter  Abigail  a  good  eddication,  an'  if 
I  do  say  it,  there  ain't  a  better-brought-up  girl,  or  one  that  can 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  without  blunderin',  or  write  a 
fairer  hand, to  say  nothin'  of  spelliu',  than  our  Abigail.  Then, 
she's  naterally  stiddy  an'  well  disposed,  an'  her  mother  always 
said  she  believed  she  was  meant  for  a  missionary,  or  a  min- 
ister's wife  at  the  least  ;  in  fact,  she  gin  'er  in  'er  very  cra- 
dle ter  the  cause,  an'  there  ain't  never  been  no  doubt  in  our 
minds  that  she  was  foreordained  to  that  special  service." 

"Does  she  share  in  this  feeling  herself?" 

"Oh,  dear  no  !"  groaned  the  deacon  ;  "there's  the  rub  ;  for 
she's  fairly  bound  not  to  see  it  in  that  light,  an'  declares, 
out  an'  out,  that  if  she  can't  have  Jotham  Springer  she 
won't  have  nobody.      Now  what  are  we  to  do?" 

'•Nothing  that  1  can  see." 

"But,"  urged  the  deacon,  apprehensively,  "this  alio  win' 
her  ter  shirk  her  duty  an'  make  a  Jonah  of  herself — " 

"An  hcnest  heart  is  its  own  best  judge  of  what  is  duty." 

Deacon  Stinchfield  looked  unconvinced,  but  the  other 
went  on  more  boldly  as  he  thought  of  poor  Abigail's  ap- 
pealing face  : — 

"You  have  nothing  against  the  young  man  personally?" 

"Oh,  no  indeed  !  nothin' at  all.    Jotham's  a  smart,  savin', 
well-principled  young  man  as   you'll  find  anywhere  ;  but  if 
Abigail  marries   him    she'll    have    to    work    hard   with   her 
hands  all  her  life  instead  of  doin'  the   Lord's   work,    such  as 
visitin'  the  sick   an'  leadin'   in  the   female  prayer-meetin's. 


PUCK    IN    THE    PULPIT.  337 

Now,  don't  you  think  that  will  be  like  buryin'  of  her  talent 
in  the  ground?" 

"By  no  means!"  And  the  young  minister's  face  grew 
bright,  and  he  spoke  with  an  earnestness  that  rather  sur- 
prised the  good  deacon.  "There  is  no  duty  so  homely,  no 
work  so  humble,  that  may  not  be  ennobled  and  elevated 
into  a  holy  service  by  the  soul  that,  clasping  with  one  hand 
the  divine,  with  the  other  a  human  love,  walks  patiently 
along  the  way  that  lies  before  it,  satisfied  with  its  own  al- 
lotted work  however  humble  it  may  be." 

"P'raps  you're  right.  In  fact,  on  the  whole,  I  don't 
know  but  what  you  are,"  thoughtfully  replied  the  deacon, 
after  a  few  moments.  "An'  so  you'd  advise  our  lettin' Abi- 
gail serve  the  Lord  by  suiting  'erself  ?"    - 

There  was  a  sly  twinkle  in  the  old  man's  eye  that  encour- 
aged his  companion  to  a  little  personal  confidence  on  his 
own  part,  and  Abigail  was  equally  mystified  and  delighted 
the  following  morning  at  her  mother's  order  to  Jotham  to 
"tackle  up  an'  carry  Abigail  over  to  the  Corners  to  get 
another  yard  for  her  dress  an'  some  currants  an'  raisins, 
for  she  was  going  to  invite  the  minister's  intended,  Rose 
Mayberry,  an'  her  grandmother,  there  to  tea  next  week, 
and"  (to  Abigail)  "we  might  as  well  make  our  cake  to- 
morrow as  any  time." 

The  long-forbidden  privilege  of  a  ride  with  Jotham  was 
fully  explained  by  the  concluding  bit  of  information,  and  as 
the  two  rode  blithely  away  together  over  the  smooth,  snowy 
road,  the  deacon's  daughter  blessed  in  her  heart  the  sweet 
girl  whose  charms  had  removed  the  unconscious  obstacle  to 
her  own  happiness,  and  convinced  her  tyrannical  but  not 
ill-meaning  mother,  that  a  minister  may  have  an  eye  for 
beauty  and  a  heart  as  susceptible  to  youth  and  grace  as  any 
other  man  ;   while  the  minister    himself,  flushed  with  the 


338    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE   HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 


realization  of  his  dream  of  bliss,  takes  to  his  heart,  humbly, 
reverently,  the  once  startling  truth,  that  '-Love  can  never  be 
out  of  place,  even  in  the  pulpit." 


^u^arii^    Off 


SUGARING     OFF. 


341 


SUGARING     OFF. 

-First  rate  day  f"  r  sugar  makin'  !  Last  night  froze 
everything  stiff  as  a  stake,  and  the  sun  has  riz  as  clear  an' 
bright  as  a  new  brass  button." 

And  Squire  Strong  rubbed  his  rough  palms  complacently 
as  he  bent  over  the  glowing  stove  upon  which  his  thrifty 
wife  was  frying  her  breakfast  cakes  ;  then  with  a  sidelong 
glance  from  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows  at  the  girlish  fig- 
ore  just  emerging  from  the  pantry,  he  went  on  :— 

"I  jest  met  Ben  Worth  out  here  in  the  road  and  he  of- 
fered to  lend  a  hand  in  the  sugar  orchard  ter-day." 

The  pretty  face  in  the  door-way  flushed  a  little,  but  the 
rosy  lips  remained  firmly  closed  as  Mrs.  Strong  looking  up 
from    her    work    remarked  in  her  always  pleasant,  kindly 

tones : — 

-Oh,  he's  got  home  then,  has  her  How  thankful  Mis' 
Worth '11  be!  She  misses  him  dretfully  when  he's  away. 
and  no  wonder,  seem'  he's  all  they've  got  left  of  their  live 
children.     When  did  he  come,  father?" 

-I  dunno.  Why.  I  d'clare.  I  never  thought  to  ask  'im. 
Did  you  know  that  he'd  got  home.  Say?" 

"No." 

The  pantrv  door  and  Say's  lips  closed  simultaneously 
with  a  snap  that  was  significant  of  something  wrong,  judg- 
ing by  Mrs.  Strong's  anxious  glance  from  the  door  to  her 
husband's  face,  which  wore  a  shrewd,  and  to  her  reassuring 
smile  : — 


342     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHOERS    OF  MAINE. 

"Don't  you  worry  yerself  one  bit  mother,"  he  whispered, 
with  a  nod  of  his  wise  old  head,  "Things  '11  all  come  out 
right  in  the  end,  never  you  fear,  and  we'll  see  our  little  girl 
settled  down  in  a  happy  home  of  'er  own  close  to  us  in  our 
old  age  without  a  doubt.  Give  the  young  folks  line  enough 
I  say,  and  they'll  twist  it  into  a  marriage  noose  fast  enough 
if  they're  only  jest  let  alone" 

Mrs .  Strong  smiled  rather  doubtfully. 

"But  I'm  afraid — "  she  began,  when  in  walked  Say, 
cream  pitcher  in  haud,  and  a  color  in  her  cheeks  that  fairly 
put  to  shame  the  scarlet  asparagus  berries  that  nodded  at 
her  so  knowingly  from  their  perch  above  the  kitchen  look- 
ing-glass. 

"Shall  I  put  the  cakes  on  the  table  now.  mother?"  she 
asked,  in  very  much  the  same  tone  with  which  a  moment 
later  she  rebuked  the  encroachments  of  her  pet  kitten  :  — 

"Scat!  what  are  you  up  to,  now,  you  naughty  little 
thing?"  The  breakfast  passed  off  without  its  usual  accom- 
paniment of  pleasant  chat  and  good-natured  merriment,  for 
Mrs.  Strong  was  too  greatly  troubled  over  her  daughter's 
unaccountable  behavior  to  say  much,  while  her  husband, 
who  was  engrossed  in  his  plans  for  the  day,  failed  to  be  as 
talkative  as  was  his  wont  on  such  occasions,  and  Say, 
having  the  field  entirely  to  herself,  availed  herself  of  the 
privilege  in  a  way  that  aroused  even  her  gentle  mother's  in- 
dignation : — 

"I  do  wish,  child,"  she  said,  with  unusual  sharpness, 
"that  you'd  stop  tormentin'  that  poor  kitten  so.  If  you're 
goin'  to  give  'er  that  bit  o'  meat,  why  f'r  the  land's  sake, 
don't  you  do  it,  and  not  keep  puttin'  it  close  to  'er  nose  and 
then  snatchin'  it  away?  I  do  hate  to  see  any  critter  tan- 
talized so." 

"I'm  only  playing  with  her,  mother,"  laughed  the  girl. 


SUGARING     OFF.  343 

"She  rather  likes  it,  and" — in  a  lower  tone — ;,so  do  /." 

"I  guess,"  interrupted  the  Squire,  who.  having  finished 
his  breakfast,  was  now  briskly  preparing  to  take  his  depart- 
ure for  the  scene  of  his  day's  labors.  "I'll  send  Jim  over  to 
Watson's  and  borrer  his  biggest  kittle,  for  if  I  have  Ben 
Worth  to  help  me  we  might  as  well  keep  two  fires  a'  goin', 
as  one.  And,  Say,"  turning  to  his  daughter,  "if  you  don't 
mind  the  trouble,  I  wish  you'd  bring  us  a  snack  o'  some- 
thin'  relishin'  sometime  along  in  the  evenin'.  I  don't  s'pose 
I  shall  get  through  till  pretty  late,  an'  some  hot  coffee,  and 
if  you  have  'em  handy,  a  few  hot  buttered  biscuits  won't 
come  amiss  after  eatin'  a  cold  dinner  an'  supper.  Got  my 
dinner  pail  ready,  ma'am?"  to  his  wife  ;  and  as  she  hurried 
off  to  bring  the  nicely  packed  lunch,  he  whispered  with  a 
comical  glance  under  his  daughter's  down-cast  lids  : — 

"Ben  asked  after  you  this  morning;  but  I  thought  I 
wouldn't  ask  'im  in  just  at  breakfast  time  so." 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  petulance,  with  a  not  quite  hid- 
den undertone  of  disappointment  in  the  tone  that  the  lis- 
tener was  shrewd  enough  to  interpret  and  wise  enough  to 
pretend  ignorance  of. 

"Well,  I  shall  look  for  you  with  my  supper  any  time 
before  nine,"  he  said,  in  his  briskest,  most  matter-of-fact 
tones  ;  while  Mrs.  Strong,  who  had  entered  just  in  time  to 
hear  the  concluding  words,  remarked  helpfully  : — 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Say,  if  you're  skittish  about  goin' 
alone." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  I'm  not  such  a  fool  I  hope,  as  to  be 
afraid  to  go  over  ground  that  I've  known  every  foot  of  all 
my  life  ;"  and  with  this  energetic  disclaimer  of  her  mother's 
imputation  upon  her  courage  Say  whisked  up  a  pile  of 
plates  which  she  deposited  in  the  sink  just  in  time  to  catch, 


344  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES   OF  MAINE. 

through  the  back  window,  a  full  view  of  a  young  man,  tall, 
strong  armed  and  broad  chested,  whose  light,  closely  curl- 
ing hair  was  covered  with  a  jauntily  worn  jockey  cap 
while  the  trousers  beneath  his  loosely  fitting  blouse  were  of 
a  fashionable  cut  and  material  that  made  Say's  sharp  little 
nose  take  to  itself  an  extra  elevation,  as  she  muttered 
scornfully  : — 

"Why  didn't  he  wear  an  old  hat  and  trousers  as  anybody 
else  would?  Broadcloth  pants!  They'll  look  pretty,  I 
guess,  after  a  day's  work  at  emptying  sap  buckets."  And, 
thriftily  indignant,  the  little  housewife  rattled  her  dishes 
into  the  pan  with  a  vim. 

"He's  growing  to  be  a  regular  dandy,  a  perfect  sap-head  !" 
she  mused,  half-angry,  half-regretful,  as  she  leaned  for- 
ward, involuntarily,  to  catch  a  last  glimpse  of  the  tall  figure 
disappearing  in  the  path  that  led  to  the  sugar  orchard; 
k,and,"  with  a  little  defiant  twist  of  her  dish  towel,  *lif 
there's  anything  on  the  face  of  the  earth  that  I  do  hate  and 
despise  it's  a  silly  man" 

It  was  a  clear,  cold  night,  and  the  snow  that  carpeted  the 
wood  path  crackled  frostily  beneath  Say's  light  tread,  as, 
with  her  pail  of  steaming  coffee  she  hastened  along  in  the 
direction  of  the  sugar  orchard,  where  her  father  was  already 
getting  a  little  impatient  for  the  appearance  of  his  promised 
lunch. 

The  moon  was  at  its  full,  and  shed  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  .-now-laden  branches  above  her  head,  until  every  sepa- 
rate twig  seemed  a  ghostly  finger  pointing,  as  with  one  ac- 
cord, toward  the  sugar  orchard. 

"Forward — to  your  fate!"  whispered  imagination,  ren- 
dered suddenly  bold  by  the  stilly  beauty  of  the  time  and 
place,  and  for  a  moment  the  girlish  face  assumed  a  look  of 
dreamy  tenderness  in   keeping  with  its  fair,  yet  half-weird 


•'Why  didn't  he  wear  an  old  hat  and  trousers,  as  anybody 


else  would." 


SUGARING     OFF.  345 

surroundings  ;  but  the  next  her  favorite  watch- dog,  common- 
sense,  gave  the  alarm — the  spell  was  broken,  and  with  an 
angry  flush  at  her  own  foolish  fancies  she  hurried  forward 
muttering  : — 

•'My  coffee  will  be  as  cold  as  the  moonshine  if  I  stop  to 
watch  that." 

And  yet.  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ruddy  firelight 
through  the  trees  she  paused  for  a  moment,  toying  ner- 
vously with  the  tassels  of  her  hood,  as  through  the  stillness 
she  could  distinctly  catch  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice  that 
was  neither  "her  father's  rough,  unmusical  bass,  or  Jim's 
boyish  treble,  but  a  clear,  ringing  tone  that  sent  its  cheery 
echo  down  the  long  wooded  avenues,  until  it  seemed  as  if 
the  snow  spirits  had  caught  the  pleasant  sounds  and  were 
tossing  them  gleefully  from  one  to  the  other  in  the  shadowy 
tops  of  the  pine  and  fir  trees. 

"He's  there  still!"  Say  muttered  in  a  pettish  undertone, 
"but  I  don't  know  as  that's  any  business  of  mine  ;"  and  she 
stepped  boldly  forward  into  the  lighted  circle,  and  without  a 
look  to  right  or  left  marched  straight  up  to  where  her  father 
stood  carefully  watching  the  boiling  sap  in  a  great  iron  ket- 
tle that  swinging  lazily  from  its  crane  of  tough  birchen 
wood,  presented  its  round,  black  sides  to  the  attacks  of  the 
roaring,  wrathful  lire  with  an  equanimity  worthy  of  notice. 

"Here's  your  coffee,  father.   How  are  you  getting  along?" 

,;First  rate  !  We've  had  an  uncommon  good  day  ;  sap's 
run  like  a  sluice  all  day  long,  an'  I've  been  on  the  clean 
jump  every  minute  till  I'm  pretty  well  tuckered  out.  Ben  V* 
raising  his  voice  high  above  the  noisy  bubbling  of  the  boil- 
ing sap,  and  the  equally  noisy  snapping  and  roaring  of  the 
fire  beneath — "Ben,   here's   our   luncheon.     Let  Jim   tend 

your  fire  an'  you  come  an'  get  yer  coffee  before  it  cools.' 
23 


346     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

A  heavy  step  crunched  the  snow  beside  them,   and  Say's 
brown  eyes  were  uplifted  in  careless  recognition. 

''How  do  you  do,  Ben?"  with  a  glance  at  the  soiled  and 
bespattered  broadcloth,   "you're  quite   a  stranger   to   your 
country  friends.     I  didn't  even  know  that  you  were  at  home 
until  father  happened  to  mention  it  this  morning." 
"I  only  came  last  night." 

The  young  man's  tone  was  subdued,  and  he  cast  a  timid, 
appealing  glance  at  the  coldly  indifferent  face  of  the  girl 
beside  him. 

She  laughed  rather  derisively  :  — 

"You  must  have  felt  particularly  anxious  to  see  your 
friends  at  home  to  spend  the  whole  day  out  here  in  a  neigh- 
bor's sugar  orchard." 

"Oh,  Ben  knows  what  he's  about !"  interrupted  her  father 
laughing.  "He  knows  that  I  can  tell  him  more  news  in 
one  day  than  he  could  hear  at  home  in  a  week." 

It  was  a  happy  diversion,  restoring  che  young  man's  self- 
possession,  and  giving  Say  time  to  feel  somewhat  ashamed 
of  her  uncalled  for  sharpness,  and  the  two  were  soon  chat- 
ting together  with  the  freedom  and  frankness  of  life-long 
friends  and  neighbors. 

"When  are  you  going  back  to  the  city?" 
And   Say   took  a  dainty  sip  of  the  delicious  syrup   that 
she  was  cooling  in  her  father's  coffee   cup, — a  sip  too  soon, 
judging  from  the   slight   grimace  that  distorted   her  pretty 
face  as  Ben  replied  significantly  : — 
"Never, — to  stop." 

"I  thought  you  liked  there,"  she  said  coldly. 

"No;  country  life  is   the   life  for  me.     Clover  fields  are 

sweeter  to  me  than  the  perfume  of  jockey  club  and  cologne, 

and,"  giving   his  voice   a  tender  significance,    "the   artless 

simplicity  and  unadorned  beauty  of  the  country  maiden  is 


SUGARING     OFF.  347 

far  more  lovely  in  my  eves  than  the  flounces  and  furbelows, 
the  airs  and  affectations  of  her  fashionable  city  sisters." 

Say  gave  a  little  impatient  twist  to  the  cup  in  her  hand. 

••Nonsense  !"  she  retorted  contemptuously,  "you  talk  like 
the  hero  in  a  third-rate  newspaper  story." 

The  young  man  colored,  as  much  with  anger  as  mortifi- 
cation. 

•'How  sharp  you  are,  Say  !"  he  said  deprecatingly.  -'You 
won't  allow  any  one  to  express  his  own  sentiments  in  his 
own  fashion  without  making  fun  of  him.  I  do  like  the 
country  and  everything  about  a  farmer's  life  better  than  I 
do  the  city  and  trade,  and  as  for — " 

Say  interrupted  him  again  in  her  most  acid  tones  : — 

*  'There,  there  !  I've  heard  enough  of  that.  No  doubt 
your  parents  will  be  glad  to  have  you  at  home  with   them." 

She  spoke  the  concluding  words  with  a  cool  indifference 
that  made  her  listener's  face  redden  angrily. 

••I'm  not  going  to  stay  at  home  now.  I  shall  start  for 
California  next  week,"  he  said,  with  a  little  quaver  of  pain 
in  his  voice  that  Say  pretended  not  to  notice. 

••Do  you  think  you'll  like  country  life  there  better  than  at 
home  ?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  an  ill-concealed  smile  that 
roused  the  young  man's  temper  beyond  control. 

"If  I  meet  with  scorn  and  contempt  there,"  he  said, 
wrathfully.  '-it  will  be  easier  to  bear  as  coming  from  the 
hands  of  strangers  than  from  those  whom  I  have  counted 
upon  all  my  life  as  friends." 

Say  said  nothing,  but  her  face,  as  seen  by  the  ruddy  fire- 
light, was  coldly  unmoved,  and  the  young  man  turned 
away  with  a  proud  light  in  his  eye  that  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  grieved  and  quivering  lip. 


348     RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

"Well,  squire,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  at  careless  ease 
that  did  not  escape  the  old  man's  keen  eye,  "you  don't  need 
me  any  longer  I  suppose,  so  I'll  just  say  'good  night'  and 
be  off  for  home."  And  scarcely  waiting  to  hear  the  other's 
cordial  thanks  for  his  timely  assistance,  he  walked  hastily 
away,  and  in  a  moment  more  was  lost  to  sight  in  the 
shadowy  forest  beyond. 

The  old  man  watched  his  retreating  figure  with  a  face  at 
once  grave  and  puzzled. 

"There  ain't  a  finer  lookin'  young  fellow  in  town,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  the  look  of  perplexity  deepened  on  his 
kindly  face  as  he  glanced  across  at  his  daughter's  trim  little 
figure,  clearly  defined  against  the  glowing  fire  that  she  was 
leisurely  feeding  from  a  stock  of  chips  and  broken  branches 
on  the  ground  beside  her;  "and  she  always  did  think,  till 
lately,  that  he  was  as  good  as  the  best.  I  don't  see,  for 
my  life,  what's  come  over  her  all  at  once.  Here,  Jim,"  ad- 
dressing his  boyish  assistant,  "this  kittleful  is  biled  enough 
an'  you  may  dip  it  off  into  the  pans  while  I  see  to  the 
rest." 

And  he  walked  briskly  across  to  where  his  daughter  was 
still  assiduously  feeding  the  fire  beneath  the  other  kettle. 

"Biled  most  enough?"  he  asked,  and  pouring  as  he  spoke 
a  ladleful  of  the  boiling  liquid  upon  a  patch  of  clean,  un- 
trodden snow  at  his  feet. 

"Not  quite,"  taking  a  piece  of  the  suddenly  hardened 
mass  in  his  practiced  fingers.  "It'll  take  half  an  hour's 
bilin'  yet  ;"  and  comfortably  disposing  himself  upon  one  end 
of  the  mossy  log  that  served  his  daughter  for  a  seat,  he  ad- 
ded in  the  most  innocent  tone  imaginable  : — 

"Ben's  gone  home." 

Say  answered  never  a  word. 


SUGARING    OFF, 


340 


"I  never  see  sech  a  fellow,"  resumed  the  old  man,  medi- 
tatively whittling  away  upon  a  soft  pine  chip  which  he  was 
slowly  fashioning  into  the  form  of  a  probe  :  '*why,  he's  as 
strong  as  an  ox  :  he's  done  one  o'  the  biggest  day's  works 
ter-day  that  I  ever  saw  done  in  my  life.  I  don't  wonder, 
with  his  bones  an'  muscles,  that  he  can't  be  contented  ter 
sell  salts  an'  senna  over  a  city  counter  all  his  life." 

Say  nibbled  unconcernedly  at  the  bit  of  candied  syrup  in 
her  hand  while  her  father  went  on  in  a  more  confidential 
tone  : — 

'•He's  saved  enough  out  of  his  clerk's  wages  to  pay  his 
expenses  out  ter  Californy  ;  an'  there  he'll  stay  till  he  gets 
enough  ter  pay  ofF  the  mortgage  on  the  old  place,  stock  it 
well  an'  put  up  new  buildin's,  with  maybe,  a  nest-egg  for 
a  rainy  day.  and  then  he's  comin' back  to  spend  his  life  with 
them  he  loves  in  the  old  home." 

There  was  a  bit  of  unconscious  romance  in  the  conclud- 
ing words  that  Say  shrewdlv  mistrusted  was  but  the  echo 
of  another's  words — an  echo  that  grated  harshly  upon  her 
stubbornly  uuappreciative  ear,  and  she  said  shortly  : — 

••Good  plans  are  well  enough  if  they  are  only  carried 
out,  but  it's  ?7iy  opinion  that  Ben  Worth  will  get  as  sick  of 
California  as  he  has  of  city  life.  He  never  knows  his  own 
mind  ten  minutes  at  a  time." 

The  squire  looked  gravely  reproachful,  but  Say  would 
not  heed  the  look,  and  as  he  spoke  she  held  up  before  her 
face  a  oreen.  bristling  pine  bough  that  served  no  less  as  a 
screen  from  her  father's  keen  eyes  than  from  the  heat  of  the 
blazing  fire. 

-Say,  my  girl,  what's  the  trouble?  What  have  you  got 
a^in  Ben  Worth,  lately,  that  you  don't  treat  him  hardly  de- 
cent? an'  when  you  speak  of  him  it's  pretty  sure  to  be 
with  a  slur.     Everybody  else  likes  'im,  and  I'm  sure  you 


S50    re-told  tales  of  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  01  MAINE. 

won't  find  a  steadier,  smarter,  better-behaved  young  man 
anywhere  round  than  he  is.  Now.  what  do  you  hate  'im 
91 1  for?" 

Say's  face  changed  from  red  to  white  and  back  to  the  red 
again,  behind  hef  improvised  screen,  before  she  answered 
hesitatingly  : — 

••I  don't  hate  him.  father,  and  sometime-  I  do  really 
like  him  very  much.  But.  father."  her  voice  grew 
stronger  now,  "he  has  taken  to  Baying  and  doing  such  fool- 
ish, nonsensical  things,  lately,  that  lie  put-  me  out  of  all 
patience  with  him.  A  silly  woman  is  b  id  enough,  but 
there's  nothing  on  earth  that  I  do  so  despise  as  a  silly  man.*' 

••Got  some  os  yer  old  father's  Lrrit  about  ye.  I  guess." 
laughed  the  squire,  with  a  brightening  face,  and  as  he 
slowly  stirred  the  clear,  golden  brown  liquid  in  the  kettle, 
he  added  sagaciously:  ••!  understand  it  ah  now, — Ben 
needs  time  to  sitgar  off,  that's  all.  You  see,"  dropping  into 
the  philosophical  with  a  relish  and  readiness  that  proved  his 
taste  for  that  mode  of  reasoning;  "everybody,  men  and 
women,  too.  have  a  sap  season  in  their  lives  when  they're 
all  sunshine  one  minute  an'  all  frost  the  next — they're  like 
maple  sap.  just  sweet  enough  ter  be  terrible  sickish  as  a 
regglar  drink,  and  not  half  sweet  enough  ter  be  of  any 
earthly  use.'  Now  what  they  need  is  a  good  thorough  bilin' 
over  the  fere  of  experience,  an'  very  often  of  real  surl'erin' 
ter  scatter  the  nonsense  an'  vanity  in  'em  and  bring  all  the 
real  goodness  an'  strength  of  their  naturs  into  one  sweet. 
frm.  perfect  whole." 

Say's  lips  quivered  a  little,  but  she  answered  with  a  well- 
assumed  indifference  : — 

'•I  have  seen  sugar  that  was  of  little  more  use  than  the 
sap  itself." 

••That's  the  fault  o'  the  bilin'  !" 


SUGARING    OFF.  351 

And  the  old  man    bestirred    himself  to    dip   off  the   now 
perfected  syrup,  while  Say  watched  with  outward  compos- 
ure, but  with  an  unsettled,  restless  heart  the  familiar  process. 
Day  after  day,— a  week  had  gone  by,   and  not  once  had 
Ben  Worth's  tall  figure  darkened  the  door-way  of  his  old 
playmate's  home  ;  and  to-morrow  he  would  leave  for  New 
York,  on   his   way    to  the    land    of  gold.      Say   had  grown 
strangely   silent   and   uncommunicative  of  late,   and   when 
Mrs.  Worth   "ran  in"  to  consult  her  old  neighbor   on   the 
number  of  shirts  and  socks   necessary  for  her   son's  outfit, 
Say  asked  no  questions,  expressed  no  sympathy  at  sight  of 
the  good  woman's  tears,    and  made  no  offer,  whatever,  of 
her  assistance  in  launching  the  traveler  on  his  way.       Even 
her  mother's  hints  in  regard  to  -'that  travelin'  dressin'  case 
that  you  made  for  your  father  when  he  went  to  Boston,— it 
hasn't  been  used  since,  and  might  as   well  go  to  somebody 
that  it'll  be  of  some  use  to,"  passed  unheeded. 

^'It  was  no  use,"  Mrs.  Strong  admitted  in  confidence  to 
herself.  "Say  was  her  father's  own  child— sot  as  the  hills 
when  she  was  once  sot."  And  there  she  left  the  matter, 
where  she  had  long  since  learned  to  leave  all  her  cares  and 
perplexities,  in  the  bosom  of  a  God-directed,  God-sheltered 
future. 

Ben  dropped  in  for  a  moment  on  the  evening  before  his 
departure  to  say  good-by  to  his  old  friends  and  receive 
their  hearty  wishes  for  his  success  and  safety. 

''When  you  see  a  chance  to  make  five  dollars,  take  itr 
an'  make  sure  o'  that  much,  ruther  'n  ter  spend  yer  time 
floatin'  round  waitin'  for  a  possible  fortin'  ter  spriug  up  in 
yer  path.  lA  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush/ 
just  remember  that  my  boy."  And  the  squire  shook  his 
young  favorite  heartily  by  the  hand,  while  he  winked  hard 


352  RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE     HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

to  keep  back  the  moisture  that  would  gather  upon  his  rough 
lids. 

'•Don't  forget  the  God  of  your  fathers,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Strong,  with  her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  her  motherly  face 
all  aglow  with  tender  interest,  "and  he'll  never  forget  or 
forsake  you.  Remember  the  promise  :  'Thev  who  trust  in 
the  Lord  shall  not  lack  for  i  ny  good  thing.'  " 

The  young  man's  lips  trembled,  and  with  a  shy,  sudden 
impulse,  he  bent  his  head  reverently  as  he  pressed  a  kiss 
upon  the  wrinkled  but  comely  face  upturned  to  his  own. 
"Now.  Say,"  he  said,  half-laughing  to  hide  his  emotion, 
"haven't  you  a  good  word  for  me  before  I  go?"  And  he 
looked  searchingly  into  the  quiet  brown  eyes  that  met  his 
own  without  the  least  timidity  or  shrinking,  as  their  owner 
replied  with  a  low  significant  laugh  :  — 

"Only  that  I  would  advise  you  to  stick  to  your  business, 
whatever  it  is  ;  or,  to  put  my  advice  into  a  more  compact 
and  portable  form,  always  remember  to  "hoe  out  your  row.'  " 

'•Your  advice  is  sensible  as  well  as  characteristic,"  he 
said  coldly  :  but  when  the  leave-takings  were  once  fairly 
over,  and  he  was  at  liberty  to  drop  the  mask  that  both  pride 
and  prudence  had  compelled  him  to  wear  in  the  presence  of 
her  he  loved,  even  Say's  unbelieving  soul  might  have  been 
satisfied  with  a  sight  of  the  bitter,  unsatisfied  tears  that  his 
humiliating  disappointment  wrung  from  him. 

Five  years  have  slipped  away,  bringing  little  outward 
change  to  the  quiet  dwellers  beneath  Squire  Strong's  com- 
fortable roof.  The  squire  and  his  wife  still  go  about  their 
daily  duties  with  the  same  quiet  yet  energetic  faithfulness, 
while  their  Beats  at  church  and  at  the  weekly  prayer-raeet- 
ing  are  seldom  vacant,  even  when  the  wintry  drifes  and 
Biimmer'a  heat  discourages  many  a  younger  Christian  from 
venturing  beyond  the  shelter  of  his  own  roof.      As  for  Say, 


SUGARING    OFF. 


353 


no  one    has   noticed   it,  and  yet  there  is  a  change,  deep  and 
abiding  as  it  is  beautiful. 

The  quick,  sharp  spirit  that  so  often  gave  offense  in  her 
earlier  girlhood  has,   somehow,  unconsciously    perhaps,  be- 
come toned  down  into  a  pleasant  briskness  that  is  pleasing 
to  all.   and    fits    well    with    the    matured    and    more    softly 
rounded  face  that  has  lost  its  look  of  keen  suspiciousness, 
and  wears  an  expression  far  more  in  keeping  with  the  ever 
kindly,  often  tenderly  sympathizing   words  that   now    seem 
native  to  her  lips.     Nor    have    these    graces    of  mind  and 
bodv  been  suffered  to  develop  in  unnoticed  obscurity.    ]Siore 
than  one  of  the  young  farmers  thereabouts  has  been  seen  to 
tie  his  horse  at  Squire  Strongs  gate  on  a   Sunday  evening  : 
but  it  has  been  observed  that  the  sam?  team  was  never  seen 
there    twice,  and   even   the    most  uncharitable   gossips    in 
town  have  always  exonerated  Say  from  any  imputation  of 
coquetry. 

But  of  late  people  have  begua  to  shake  their  heads  know- 
ingly,   whenever  a  certain    grave,   handsome,   middle-aged 
gentleman,    in    garments    of  unmistakably   city   make,    has 
made  his  appearance  at  the  depot  in  the  village  :    is  received 
and  entertained  by  the  squire  with  his   usual   hearty  hospi- 
talitv.    and  introduced  to  friends   and  neighbors   as    "Mr. 
West,  a  friend  of  ours  from  the  city."      "A  city  lawyer." 
the  gossips  say,  while  -rich  and  a  widower"  is  added,  with 
sundry  significant  nods    and   winks,    when    the    said  -wid- 
ower." accompanying  Say  Strong  and  her  parents  to  church, 
hands  her  to  her  seat  in  the  choir  with  an  air  of  -rave,  old- 
fashioned    courtesy,    before    seating    himself    with    the    old 
couple  in  their  pew  below. 

It  has  been  noticed,  too.  of  late,  that  Say's  cheerful  face 
has  grown  strangely  thoughtful,  not  sad  exactly,  but  un- 
decided and  doubtful,  as  if  her  heart  and  brain  were  refusing 


354    RE-TOLD  TALES  OF  THE  HILLS  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

to  agree  upon   some  point  of  more  than   usual  ■  interest    to 
their  owner. 

It  was  a  pleasant,  sunshiny  Sabbath,  the  first  in  April, 
and  as  Say  Strong  took  her  seat  in  the  choir,  she  noticed 
that  the  singers  already  present  were  clustered  together 
peering  curiously  at  somebody  or  something  in  the  body  of 
the  church, — what,  she  had  no  time  to  ask  nor  see,  for  at 
the  moment  of  her  entrance  the  leader  gave  the  signal,  and 
every  one  dropped  into  his  or  her  seat  with  the  habitual 
promptness  that  a  system  of  careful  training  had  made  easy 
and  natural. 

As  they  rose  to  sing  the  opening  hymn  Say's  eyes  wan- 
dered for  an  instant  to  the  dear  old  faces  that  always 
looked  up  at  her  with  that  little  touch  of  prideful  tenderness 
that  she  alone  saw  and  felt,  and  that  warmed  her  heart  and 
mellowed  her  voice  as  by  some  magic  power.  But  to-day, 
a  quick  rush  of  emotion  choked  down  the  half-uttered  notes, 
and  her  head  grew  giddy  with  a  whirl  of  surprise,  joy, 
pain, — for  there,  in  the  very  seat  next  their  own,  was  a  tall, 
well-knit  figure,  only  too  familiar  to  her  strained  gaze, 
although  the  boyish  red  and  white  of  his  complexion  had 
given  place  to  the  sun  and  beard-darkened  hue  of  ripened 
manhood,  and  even  the  closely  curling  hair  had  lost  some- 
thing of  its  old-time  gold  ;  but  the  clear  blue  eyes  looked  up 
just  as  clearly  and  unsuspiciously  into  her  own  as  of  yore  ; 
indeed,  she  fancied  for  a  moment  that  there  was  a  half- 
smile  of  tender  recognition  in  them,  as,  with  a  mighty  ef- 
fort, she  put  aside  the  throng  of  bewildering  memories,  and 
her  sweet  voice  rose,  full  and  clear,  in  the  first  line  of  the 
old  familiar  hymn 

"Return,  ye  wandering  sinners  home." 

The  service  was  over  at  last,   and  as  Say's  foot  touched 
the  last  stair  she  looked  up  to  meet  that  same  frank  smile 


SUGARING   OFF.  355 

and  outstretched  hand  that  had  so  often  greeted  her  years 
ago,  while  a  voice  that  was  music  to  her  ear  exclaimed, 
eagerly  : — 

'•Won't you  welcome  me  home,  Say?" 

'•How  are  ye?  How  are  ye,  Ben?  Glad  ter  see  ye  agin  !" 
and  Deacon  Sparmint  crowded  himself  between  the  two,  in 
the  heartiness  of  his  greeting,  which  was  now  re-echoed  by 
old  and  young,  who  crowded  joyously  about  their  old  fa- 
vorite with  a  perfect  chorus  of  subdued  welcomes,  ques- 
tions and  comments,  while  Say,  quietly  accepting  Mr. 
West's  oifered  escort,  walked  silently  away,  her  heart  full 
to  overflowing  with  its  bitter-sweet  memories — trifles,  per- 
haps in  their  day,  but  now  to  her  time-awakened  vision, 
things  of  infinite  importance  to  her  future  peace. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  West  took  a  dignified  leave  of 
his  host  and  family,  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  no  inten- 
tion of  returning  at  present,  and  Say,  with  a  lightened 
brow,  but  with  a  little  air  of  nervous  expectation,  that  she 
tried  her  best  to  hide,  busied  herself  with  her  usual  tasks, 
that,  as  the  day  waned,  seemed  gradually  to  lose  their  in- 
terest for  her,  and  as  the  twilight  began  to  fall,  she  re- 
marked in  a  wearied  tone  :  — 

'*I  believe  I'll  go  down  to  the  sugar  orchard  and  carry 
father  his  supper  ;  perhaps  the  walk  in  the  open  air  will 
help  my  headache."  And  following  up  her  own  suggestion  , 
she  was  soon  picking  her  way  along  the  old  familiar  path 
that,  five  years  ago,  she  had  threaded  upon  the  same  errand, 
with  a  step  as  firm,  an  eye  as  clear,  and  a  heart  (she  smiled 
sadly,  wonderiugly  to  herself  as  she  recalled  that  time)  not 
yet  wise  enough  to  know  itself. 

The  lunch  was  gratefully  received  and  enjoyed,  and  Say 
stood  watching  with  a  dreamy,  half-absent  eye,  the  form  of 
her  father,  as  he  passed  briskly  from  fire  to  fire,   stirring, 


356   re-told  tales  of  the  hills  AND  SHORES  OF  MAINE. 

testing  and  discoursing  with  pleasant  volubility  upon  the 
quality,  quantity,  etc.,  of  this  year's  sugar  crop. 

"It's  the  best,  take  it  all  together,  that  we've  had  for  five 
years.  You  remember,  Say,  that  year  that  Ben  Worth 
went — " 

His  voice  died  away  in  the  distance  as  he  hurried  off  to 
replenish  a  decaying  fire  ;  and  Say  stood  looking  thought- 
fully down  upon  the  blazing  brands,  while  her  slender  fin- 
gers played  nervously  with  a  twig  of  soft,  silky  catkins  that 
she  had  plucked  on  her  way  through  the  woods,  and  there 
was  an  unconscious  pathos  in  her  tones  as  she  softly  re- 
peated her  father's  words  : — 

"Five  years — -of  patient  waiting,  of  uncomplaining  silence, 
of—" 

"Sugaring  off!" 

It  was  Ben  Worth's  voice  that  spoke  the  words,  and  Ben 
Worth's  hand  that  clasped  her  own,  as  he  whispered  with  a 
tender,  yet  half-roguish  significance  :  — 

"Will  you  accept  the  sugar  as  it  is  now,  Say?  It  may 
not  be  of  the  first  quality  to  be  sure  :  but  if  you  will  only 
try  it  I  will  promise  that  it  will  do  its  best  toward  sweet- 
ening away  whatever  drops  of  bitterness  fate  may  mingle 
in  your  cup  of  life." 

Say's  face  was  turned  away,  but  a  loving  hand  gently 
drew  the  drooping  head  into  the  full  light  of  the  shameless 
fire,  and  a  pair  of  tender,  yet  masterful  eyes  looked  search- 
ingly  into  her  own.  She  tried  to  laugh,  but  the  tears  would 
come  instead,  and  dropping  her  head  upon  the  broad  shoul- 
der beside  her  she  sobbed  out  a  few  broken  words  of  lovino- 

o 

acknowledgment  that  made  her  listener's  heart  bound  with 
grateful  joy. 

"But  where  did  you  get  that  idea  of  the  'sugaring  off?'  " 
she  asked,  a  little  later,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  before  the 


SUGARING    OFF.  357 

cheerful  fire,  and  Ben  answered  with  a  slightly  embarrassed 


air  : — 


"Thereby  hangs  a  confession.  On  the  night  that  we 
parted  here  I  came  back  for  my  sap  ladle,  that  in  the  an- 
gry excitement  of  my  leaving  I  had  forgotten,  and  which  I 
knew  would  be  needed  by  my  father  the  next  day.  I  came 
just  in  time  to  hear  your  conversation  with  your  father 
about  me,  and  I  stole  away  in  a  perfect  agony  of  grief  and 
mortification.  It  was  that  which  sealed  my  lips  on  the  even- 
ing of  my  departure  for  California,  and  it  is  that  which  now 
emboldens  me  to  offer  you  the  sugar  that  five  long  years  of 
trial,  toil,  and  self-denial  have  produced." 

Say  smiled— yet  with  tearful  eyes—as  she  placed  her 
hand  in  his,  and  from  that  day  forth  the  fancy  was  never 
alluded  to  by  either,  but  was  laid  aside  amid  other  precious 
relics  of  the  past  as  something  too  sacred  for  careless  hands 
to  intermeddle  with— a  sealed  memory  to  which  their  two 
hearts  alone  kept  the  key. 


THE    END. 


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